4&5.F 


/^•••MUfN 

I  LIBRARY 


l  UNIVEKSITY  OP 

\CALIfOtNIA 


(Issued  Quarterly 
($1.50  per  yeai 


THE  SOCRATES  SERIES. 

Vol.    1.     No.  1.  APRIL,    1894. 

Entered  at  the  New  York  Post-Office,  as  second  class  mail  matter. 

A    NEW    ENGLAND 


WOMAN. 


4 

ROBERT     FEN1SIIMORE. 


NEW     YfcRK. 

feM* 

PUBLISHED       BY 

SOCRATES     PUBLISHING     COMPANY, 

794.  796,  798  TENTH  AVENIT. 
1394. 


STACK 


U.I 


COPYRIGHT,  1 894,  BY    JOSEPH    M.    WOOD 


F55 
fill 


A  human  spirit  here  records 

The  anuals  of  its  human  strife  ; 

A  human  hand  hath  touched  these  chords  : 

This  tale  may  all  be  idle  words— 

But  yet— it  once  was  Life.— 

Lord  Lytton. 


387 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

Love,  what  is  Love  ?  Can  a  man  love  more  than  once  ? 
Otherwise  devoted  to  a  short  history  of  the  writer, 
his  first  recollections  of  life,  his  boyish  love  affairs, 

etc.,  etc 5 

CHAPTER    II. 

Continuation  of  early  recollections,  and  a  short 
treatise  on  the  benefits  of  religion,  church  member 
ship,  and  further  introductory  chapters  to  the  rest 
of  these  Confessions 11 

CHAPTER    III. 

The  Spanish  Lady  ;  Some  moralizing  ;  When  Satan 
tempted  the  woman  she  fell,  and  ever  since  has  kept 

Man  falling  with  her  !   21 

CHAPTER    IV. 

The  New  Boarder ;     The  Game  of   Chess  ;    What 

came  of  it. 25 

CHAPTER    V. 

Continuation  of  Chapter  IV.  My  Eve,  my  George 
Sand.  Our  Parting.  A  woman  must  be  driven, 
not  drive  herself , , , , • ^e 


V  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    VI. 

The  sermon;  Life  of  David.  MAN  vs.  WOMAN  ; 
Difference  of  their  loves.  Jilted ;  Recklessness ; 

Bohemianism 32 

CHAPTER   VII. 

My  Angel  Singer ;  The  Requital  and  "  Message." 
"  L'Etoile  du  Nord."  What  Maurice  Strakosch 
said.  Her  heavenly  voice.  The  Spuyten  Duyvil 
disaster ;  The  Monument 42 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

How  I  met  the  girl  I  eventually  married.  My  love 
for  her.  Her  love  for  somebody  else.  My 
rejection  ;  My  misery 51 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Her  mother  comes  to  see  me ;  Writes  me.  My  sick 
ness  ;  Recovery.  Her  letters  ;  My  reply 60 

CHAPTER  X. 

Our  meeting;  Our  engagement.  Weighed  in  the 
balance 69 

CHAPTER   XL 

Our  marriage;  Honeymoon  and  Reception.  The 
Letter.  What  Emerson  says.— What  the  Bible 
says < . , ,  , 71 

CHAPTER  XII. 
The  command  :  "  To  increase  and  multiply "   does 


CONTENTS.  vr 

not    apply    to    New    England   Women.      I   hate 
doctors.    Housekeeping.   First  Parting.   American 
'women.     American   housekeepers,   their    extrava 
gance. — Its  result 76 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

First  sorrow.  Our  Roy.  Europe.  Newport.  The 
Devil  Incarnate 85 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Solomon  Nathan.     The   Jewish   Nation.     Lew  Wal 
lace's  "  Ben  Hur."  Description  of  Nathan  ;  Nathan's 
wife;    Her   death.     Hypnotism.     Gossip 90 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Sheepshead  Bay ;  Luck  at  Races ;  Salvator ;  The 
Suburban  ;  How  it  was  won ;  My  winnings.  My 
wife's  greeting 97 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Our   family   increases.     My   wife's   early   education 

bears  fruit.     Our  new  home.     Mene,  Mene,  Tekel 

Upharsin.     Roys   sickness ;  delirium  ;  death ....  10G 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Our  misery.  Beatrice ;  Enid ;  Reminiscences  of 
Roy.  Beatrice's  sickness,  "  and  this  comes  of 
having  children,"  My  wife's  stay  in  the  country  ; 
My  short  visit 118 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 
La  Grippe;     Pneumonia ;     Well  doctor  I  am  sorry  I 


vii  CONTENTS. 

did  not  die;  My  successor;  My  wife's  regrets..  126 
CHAPTER     XIX. 

Return  from  the  country ;  My  Casino  acquaintance; 
Love  of  mischief.  My  God  Robert  what  have  you 
done  ? 129 

CHAPTER     XX. 

My  wife's  return .  The  brass  bedstead.  Losing  my 
temper.  Nathan's  words.  Our  gradual  estrange 
ment.  Edith's  letter 134 

CHAPTER    XXL 

I  leave  my  home.  My  letter.  Nathan  calls  on  me, 
His  assumed  surprise,  His  interview  with  Edith. 
Sophism.  MY  DREAM!  I  return  home;  My 
wife's  greeting;  Her  breakfast;  Her  answer  to 
my  letter ;  My  appeals ;  I  almost  win  her. 
Do  you  hate  me  ?  I  do  !  Mrs.  A ;  What 
she  said.  Mansfield's  Nero.  The  telegram; 
Desertion 141 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

Thou  shalt  have  no  other  Gods  !  My  resolution. 
My  telegram  :  Her  father's  reply  ;  Her  mother's 
call ;  What  I  said ;  Parting  with  my  youngest 
child .  .162 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

My  little  Enid.  Alfred  Price;  His  sympathy; 
My  letters ;  Did  I  ever  strike  you  as  being  a  happy 
woman?  THE  MARBLE  HEART..  ,.172 


CONTENTS.  VIII 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

I  hear  from  my  wife;  The  attorney's  letter;  My 
interview  with  Mr.  Charmer;  An  absolute  divorce; 
Her  demands ;  My  letter ;  The  Old  Guard  dies, 
but  never  surrenders ;  Socrates  and  Xantippe ; 
Give  a  woman  an  inch,  and  she  will  take  an  ell.. 181 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

Our  servants  are  our  best  judges.  I  sell  my  house 
hold  effects  at  auction  ;  My  wife's  demands ;  Our 
interview  ;  My  appeals ;  Honor  is  to  a  man,  'irfnit 
virtue  is  to  a  woman ;  An  anonymous  letter ;  My 
appeals  and  letters 193 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

'Tis  ever  darkest  just  before  day;  Her  father  calls  on 
me ;  Conspiracy ;  Letters  ;  My  brother  John ; 
Mepthistofele  draws  in  his  horns;  I  gain  my  point; 
Solomon  Nathan 215 

CHAPTER     XXVII. 

A  new  attorney ;  I  agree  to  a  divorce ;  Interview 
with  my  wife  ;  Final  appeal ;  DECEIT  ;  On  what 
trifles  our  life  revolves  ;  Little  things  ;  We  appear 
before  a  referee;  Decree  of  divorce;  My  wife 

gains  her  point ......  236 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

The  girl  I  met  at  the  Seaside  ;  Recollections  of  her ; 
Her  goodness  ;  Her  consideration  .  A  Man  can 
love  more  than  once.  Marriage;  Happiness; 
Sickness;  Death;  Alone  A  telegram;  Death  of 
Edith.  My  dream ;  Edith's  letter 263 


PREFACE. 


I  am  a  divorced  man ! 

As  such  I  am  naturally  in  a  measure  sensitive  as 
to  how  the  world  may  regard  me. 

During  the  summer  preceding  my  divorce,  I 
was  introduced  and  became  rather  familiar  with  a 
Mr.  D ,  who  of  himself — one  of  Nature's  noble 
men — nevertheless  was  always  regarded  by  most  of 
his  friends  with  a  grain  of  suspicion.  He  was  the 
soul  of  honor,  but  the  mere  fact  of  his  wife  having 
divorced  herself  from  him,  made  me  for  one  suspect 
— with  the  fair  sex  at  any  rate — he  probably  was 
other  than  the  "man"  he  seemed.  In  fact,  uncon 
sciously,  I  at  first  suspected  he  was  next  door  to  a 
brute  with  women,  and  like  most  men  without  caring 
to  know  facts,  I  blamed  the  man,  and  commiserated 
the  woman. 

How  little  did  I  dream  others  might  soon  regard 
me  in  pretty  much  the  same  light,  and  when  my 
trial  came  on,  and  my  divorce  was  pending,  the  desire 
to  stand  aright  before  my  children  induced  me  to 


PREFACE.  1 

write  a  fair  part  of  the  subsequent  chapters  which 
concern  my  wife  and  myself,  and  happening  to  read 
them  at  a  later  day  to  a  literary  friend,  his  sugges 
tion  resulted  in  my  printing  a  history  of  my  divorce. 

His  advice  unconsciously  set  me  to  propounding  the 
query  as  to  whether  a  man  could  love  more  than  once, 
and  following  my  "  train  of  thought,"  I  reverted  to 
the  many  times  I  had  been  in  love,  and  connecting 
the  two  propositions,  I  commenced  the  "Confessions" 
which  lead  up  to  "A  New  England  Woman,"  and 
end,  with  my  second  wife. 

Whatever  may  be  said  of  my  experiences,  (and 
whereas  they  may  have  been  extra-ordinary  and 
varied,)they  certainly  speak  the  history  of  a  life  such 
as  it  was,  and  with  neither  the  wish  nor  desire  to 
paint  myself  other  than  I  am,  I  leave  to  my  "jury  of 
readers  "  the  verdict. 

ROBERT  FENNIMORE. 

New  York,  March  12,  1894. 


CHAPTER  I. 


The  writers  excuse  for  making  these  confessions 
public,  exists  in  tbe  fact  that  whereas  his  life 
has  been  both  a  varied  and  tempestuous  one,  he 
believes  he  has  at  last  found  "  Rest,"  and  a  haven 
in  the  love  of  a  woman,  who  has  redeemed  him  from 
the  i  ast,  and  if  perchance  some  man,  some  woman 
can  find  comfort,  precept  or  instruction,  in  the 
perusal  of  this  short  history,  the  author  will  feel 
more  than  recompensed.  Particularly  does  he  want 
to  impress  the  fact  that  man's  heart  is  so  constituted 
that  no  matter  how  deep  the  sorroic,  no  matter  how 
severe  the  trials,  given  good  health,  a  good  constitu 
tion,  and  a  true  woman's  love — it  is  not  good  that 
man  should  be  alone — his  sorrows  may  be  turned 
into  blessings,  and  his  trials  into  triumphs.  As  to 
Love,  what  is  Love?  Can  we  Love  more  than  once, 
or  is  it  only  once  that  man  forgets  self,  forgets  the 
world,  forgets  every  thing  and  lives  only  for  the  one 
fair  woman,  whom  sooner  or  later  we  are  all  supposed 
to  meet? 


Andrew  Jackson  once  said, 

"Heaven  will  be  no  Heaven   if  I  do  not  meet   my  wife 
there." 

while   Richter   best  expressed  himself    when   he 
said  : 

"  No  man  can  live  piously,  or  die  righteously  without  a 
wife." 

Lowell  thought  : 

u  Earth's  noblest  thing  :   "A  WOMAN  PERFECTED." 

On  the  other  hand  : 

What  mighty  ills  have  not  been  done  by  woman  ? 
Who  was't  betrayed  the  Capitol  ?     A  woman  ! 
Who  lost  Marc  Antony  the  world  ?     A  woman  ! 
Who  was  the  cause  of  a  long  ten  years'  war, 
And  laid  at  last  Old  Troy  in  ashes  ?     Woman ! 
Destructive,  DAMNABLE,  DECEITFUL  WOMAN! 

but  the  same  writer  also  wrote  ; 

O  woman  !  lovely  woman  !  nature  made  thee 
To  temper  man,  we  had  been  brutes  without  you. 
Angels  are  painted  fair  to  look  like  you  : 
There's  in  you  all  that  we  believe  of  heaven; 
Amazing  brightness,  purity  and  truth, 
Eternal  joy  and  everlasting  love. 

As  to  love  :  Goethe  says  : 

Something  the  heart  must  have  to  cherish, 
Must  love  and  joy  and  sorrow  learn. 
Something  with  passion  clasp  or  perish, 
And  in  itself  to  ashes  burn. 


while  Byron  : 

Yes  love  indeed  is  light  from  Heaven; 
A  spark  of  that  immortal  tire 
'With  angels  shaiv.l  l>y  Alia  given 
To  lift  from  earth  our  low  desire. 

and  Scott : 

True,  love's  the  gift  which  God  has  given 
To  man  alone  beneath  the  Heaven. 

then  Southey  : 

They  sin,  who  tell  us  Love  can  die ; 
With  life  all  other  passions  fly, 
All  others  are  but  vanity. 

and  again  : 

Love  is  indestructible ; 

Its  holy  flame  for  ever  burneth, 

From  Heaven  it  came,  to  Heaven  returncth. 

while  Tennyson  : 

God  gives  us  love,  something  to  love 
He  lends  us,  but  when  love  is  grown 
To  ripeness,  that  <>n  which  it  throve 
Falls  off  and  love  is  left  alone. 

But  to  my  story  : 

My  first  recollection  of  life  was  when — I  must 
have  been  twixt  the  ages  of  two  and  three — I  recol 
lect  myself  in  my  little  frock  and  kilt,  pulling  my 
nurse,  Johanna,  into  my  mother's  dressing  room 
, pointing  to  the  top  of  her  old  fashioned  innhog- 


any  wardrobe  and  beseeching  her  to  give  ine  a  black 
bottle  containing  medicine,  which  I  remember  as 
particularly  sweet  in  contra-distinction  to  the  pre 
valent  impression  as  to  medicine  being  nauseous, 
bitter  and  nasty.  Not  that  in  later  years  medicine 
has  not  been  both  bitter  and  other  than  palatable, 
but  if  a  child's  first  taste  of  medicine  and  first  ac 
quaintance  with  the  doctor  are  pleasant  and  agree 
able,  that  child  will  the  more  readily  adapt  himself 
to  the  bitter  as  well  as  sweet  potions  of  his  phar 
macopoeia  than  a  child  whose  taste  and  stomach  has 
after  first  taking  medicine,  ever  thereafter  revolted 
at  the  mere  thought  thereof. 

I  refer  to  this  first  recollection  of  life  to  call 
attention  to  my  hav:ng  early  been  blessed  with 
a  good  memory.  In  fact,  among  my  brothers 
and  sisters  it  was  universally  agreed  ;  Bob 
could  remember  more  things  that  never  oc 
curred  (although  I  knew  they  bad)  than  anybody 
in  the  family  As  to  the  fair  sex ;  I  was  only  kbout 
seven  years  of  age  when  I  remember  myself  as  deeply 
attracted  to  a  little  golden  haired,  blue  eyed  miss, 
who,  like  me,  was  not  large  enough  to  sit  other,  than 
on  a  long  legged,  high  backed  stool  at  the  meals  in 
our  hotel.  I  recollect  well  how  our  nurses  used  to 
joke  about  our  apparent  spooniness  for  each  other. 


9 

My  next  recollection  was  when  as  a  boy  of  thirteen, 
I  think  I  was  in  love  in  earnest.  Opposite  to  where 

I  resided  in  H ,  there  dwelt  a  little  girl,  who,  to 

my  mind,  was  the  most  beautiful  creature  that  ever 
lived.  Of  about  my  own  age,  how  I  used  to  watch 
for  opportunities  to  be  near  her  !  How  the  hope  of 
meeting  her  on  her  way  from  school,  the  chance 
of  catching  one  smile,  one  glance  from  her  eye  would 
be  all  I  cared  for !  For  weeks,  perhaps  for  months 
I  was  too  bashful  to  even  talk  to  her,  but  how  I 
did  love  her  !  Oh,  hovv  deeply  !  Writers  and  poets 
speak  of  'Love."  What  poet  has  ever  eulogized 
a  boy's  love  *•  Ah  me !  me-thinks,  love  enobles,  love 
uplifts,  love  blesses  him  who  giveth  as  much  as  him 
who  receiveth,  but  me-thinks  no  love  so  entirely  un 
selfish,  no  love  that  asketh  so  little  (unless  mayhap 
it  be  a  parent's  love)  as  the  love  of  a  boy  for  a  girl. 
It  yeeins  folly  to  dwell  on  what  many  may  consider 
irrelevant  and  far-fetched,  but  I  question  if  anybody 
as  impressionable  as  I  was,  will  not  acknowledge  a 
boy's  love  is  perhaps  next  to  a  mother's,  the 
purest  love  our  hearts  ever  exjwrience. 

How  I  used  to  save  pennies  to  buy  my 
sweetheart  sweetmeats,  while  every  penny  I  could 
scrape  together,  I  would  spend  on  my  boyish  fancy 
without  ever  expecting  to  be  even  thanked.  I  re- 


10 

member  being  too  bashful  to  present  my  gifts  in 
person.  I  would  send  them  by  her  little  sister,  or 
my  younger  brothers,  while  whenever  she  and  I  did 
meet,  I  would  be  perfectly  content  to  stand,  or  be 
around,  if  only  she  were  with  me. 

It  is  years  and  years  since  all  this  happened, 
but  who  knows  if  fate  had  not  separated  us — my 
first  love  might  have  been  my  last  ? 


CHAPTER    II. 


At  the  age  of  fifteen,  1  recollect,  subsequent  to  the 
great  Chicago  fire,  meeting  in  that  city  a  girl,  who 
in  those  days  was  the  one  fair  woman  to  me.  She 
was  about  my  own  age,  a  well  developed,  buxom 
young  lady,  "  smart  as  a  steel  trap,"  full  of  life  and 
ambition. 

At  the  head  of  her  class,  she  was  about  as  bright 
a  specimen  of  a  healthy,  wide  awake  American  girl 
as  it  was  ever  my  lot  to  meet.  I  lived  in  the  same 
house  with  her  mother,  who,  (like  unto  a  good  many 
Chicago  people  after  the  fire),  took  boarders.  Well 
do  I  remember  the  pleasant  winter  evenings  we  spent 
together,  she  accompanying  herself  on  her  guitar, 
singing  many  of  the  old  negro  ballads,  which  up  to 
that  time  I  had  never  heard,  and  I  love  to  think  of 
her  singing  in  her  clear,  bell  like  contralto : 


Oh  :  my  darliug  Nelly  Gray,  They  have  taken  you  away.    And   I'll 


never     eee    my     darling      a  -  ngr 


12 


or 


* 

All 

de     darkies     am     a 

i     u     r,-"! 

weep  -  ing,  

U 

_  -.-_ 

5  —  «    i 

-f      -*     -\            -| 

^             -i  ?d 

Massa's 

*                '     *" 
in.      de  cold,      cold 

"1 
ground. 

Many  a  time  have  I  heard  these  songs  since,  but 
never  do  they  sound  to  me  as  in  those  days  of  yore, 
when  accustomed  as  I  was,  to  the  folk  songs  of  Eng 
land,  the  Volkslieder  of  Germany,  or  the  trashy 
ephemeral  stuff  of  the  day,  I  heard  my  Minnie's  sweet 
voice  reveal  to  me  the  depth,  the  pathos  of  those 
negro  songs  of  America. 

"  The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore, 
Long  after  it  was  heard  no  more." 

At  other  times,  she  and  I  would  be  discussing 
subjects;  way  beyond  our  depth.  She,  well  educated, 
as  positive  as  only  a  smart  girl  can  be,  I  as  obstinate 
as  contrary  in  argument  as  well— as  I  have  always 
since  been.  I  remember  her,  as  being  imbued  with 
a  belief  in  spiritualism,  (her  mother  was  firm  in  the 
faith  thereof,)  and  once,  in  the  heat  of  one  of  our  ar 
guments,  she  promised  me  in  case  she  died  before  I 
did  to  visit  me,  no  matter  where  I  might  be.  That 


13 

she  never  did  so  (she  died  within  two  years  after  I 
met  her)  has  always  been  proof  positive  to  me  that 
the  dead  do  not  re-visit  us,  as  I  know  she  would  h.ivo 
kept  her  word.  Well,  I  admired  her;  in  fact  I  doubt 
whether  in  all  my  after  life  I  ever  met  a  girl  who 
was  nearer  to  my  ideal,  and  although  I  did  not  know 
of  her  death  until  mouths  afterwards,  I  was  very 
much  shocked  when  I  heard  of  it. 

At  about  this  time  I  experienced  religion.  Ahvuys 
having  been  taught  to  fear  God  and  keep  His  com 
mandments,  I  found  it  easy  to  persuade  myself  that 
only  by  joining  a  church,  was  a  man  sure  to  be  saved. 

As  a  result,  I  applied  to  Dr.  P.  of  the church  for 

admission.  This  gentleman, never  an  eloquent  preach 
er  had  such  a  homely  way  of  stepping  down  and  out  of 
the  pulpit  and  figuratively  singling  out  his  auditors, 
that  I  recollect  many  a  time  having  been  dot-ply 
affected  by  his  discourses,  and  when  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  become  a  Christian,  I  went  and  spoke  to  him 
about  it.  He  took  me  before  the  session  of  his  church, 
and  there  I  was  rejected.  Why  ?  Because  on  exam 
ination  I  said  I  did  not  believe  in  the  Bible.  A  few 
days  thereafter  Dr.  P.  requested  me  to  call  on  him. 
Good  old  soul,  how  his  kindly  face  beamed  on  me, 
how  earnestly  he  endeavored  to  convince  me  of  the 
truths  of  the  Book  he  believed  in,  but  it  was  only 


14 

when  I  told  him  I  did  not  see  HOW  if  Adam  and 
Eve  had  only  Cain  and  Abel  for  children,  and  THEY 
WERE  THE  FIRST  PEOPLE,  Cain  could  go  out 
from  the  presence  of  the  Lord,'  "  into  the  land  of 
Nod,"  and  there  evidently  find  a  wife,  and  how,  since 
the  sun  had  always  stood  still,  Joshua  could  com 
mand  it  to  do  so. 

Well,  instead  of  telling  me  the  Bible  did  not  say 
Adam  and  Eve's  only  children  had  been  Cain  and 
Abel,  and  that  since  Joshua  commanded  the  sun 
to  stand  still,  it  had  stood  still,  (all  of  which  I 
would  have  disputed  and  argued  about,)  this  grand 
old  man  lifted  me  bodily  out  of  my  slough  of 
despond  and  ignorance  and  said  ;  Robert,  there  are 
some  things  I  do  not  understand,  there  are  a  great 
many  other  things  I  cannot  explain,  but  this  I  do 
know  :  God  so  loved  the  world  that  He  gave  His 
only  begotten  Son  that  whosoever  believeth  in  Him 
should  be  saved,"  and  I  do  know,  whereas  I  cannot 
understand  why,  when  I  will  it,  my  arm  moves,  I 
know  it  does,  and  whereas  a  good  many  things  puz 
zle  and  worry  me,  I  do  know  I  believe  in  Christ,  and 
my  faith  is  deep  enough  for  me  to  say  :  Oh  Lord,  I 
believe,  help  Thou  mine  unbelief.  You  are  a  boy,  I 
a  man  over  sixty  !  You  have  dared  to  say  something 
I  never  would  say.  You  have  said  you  do  not  be- 


15 


lieve  everything  in  the  Bible  is  true  !  Don't  you 
think  if  you  pray  to  God  to  give  you  faitb,  and  to 
Him  leave  the  unexplainable,  the  seeming  contradic 
tory,  He,  in  His  own  way,  will  enlighten  you  ?  And 
since  you  believe  in  Christ,  do  you  think  it  right  to 
run  the  chance  of  eternal  damnation  by  wantonly 
questioning  the  truths  of  "  His  Book?  "  Well,  the 
old  gentleman  converted  me.  I  joined  the  church, 
and  even  to-day,  in  my  heart  of  hearts,  I  thank 
God  that  I  did  so,  not  that  I  am  a  Christian  (in  the 
accepted  sense  of  the  word,)  nor  as  sound  a  believer 
as  I  should  be,  but /row  the  depth  of  my  lieart  I 
thank  my  Maker  that  "  from  my  youth  up  I  knew 
Him,"  for  many  a  sin  did  I  not  commit,  and  many  a 
sin  did  my  church  membership  keep  me  from,  in  re 
collection  of  the  fact  that  the  "  vows  of  God  "  were 
ever  before  me. 

The  foregoing  is  a  great  deal  lengthier  than  I 
intended  or  meant  it,  but  since  commencing  these 
"Confessions"  my  thoughts  travel  a  great  deal  faster 
than  my  pen,  and  whereas  I  never  meant  these  lines  to 
be  productive  of  a  convert  to  church  membership, 
nor  to  induce  others  to  believe  in  what  I  believed,  or 
believe  in.  I  do  know  ;  If,  as  KingAgrippa  said  unto 
Paul,  any  of  my  readers  feel  constrained  to  say  : 
"Almost  these  words  persuade  me  to  become  a 


16 

Christian,"  even  as  Paul,  woula  I  exclaim  ;  "  I  would 
to  God,  not  only  thou,  but  also  all  that  hear  me,  were 
both  almost  and  altogether  such  as  I."  Many  a  time  have 
I  been  tempted,  many  a  time  has  satan  triumphed,  but 
I  thank  God  that  to  some  extent  the  vows  I  once  took 
upon  myself  kept  me  and  made  me  a  better  man 
than  ever  otherwise,  I  would  have  been.  I  refer  to 
this  so  lengthily,  as  from  the  age  of  fifteen  to  nine 
teen,  few  boys,  few  young  men  lived  better,  purer 
lives  than  I. 

Employed  at  that  period  of  my  life  from  early 
morn  till  late  at  night,  I  would  rush  through 
my  meals,  and  excepting  when  I  went  to  prayer 
meetings,  I  would  retire  to  my  room  and  there  read 
and  study  until  the  early  morn,  never  wasting  my  time, 
money  or  opportunities  on  bar-room,  club-room  or 
such  other  associates.  And  the  result  was,  when  a 
change  came  over  my  life,  and  I  believed  not  as  I  had 
believed,  and  thought  of  life  differently,  my  principles 
were  firmly  set  and  imbued,  and  the  four  years  good 
teachings  and  preachings,  left,  as  I  hope,  their  im 
press  forever  more. 

But  the  foregoing  is  becoming  more  of  a  personal 
history,  than  a  recounting  of  the  many  experiences 
of  love  and  loving  that  I  meant  to  confine  these  con 
fessions  to. 


17 

After  Minnie's  death,  several  years  passed  before 
I  again  fell  in  love.  Then  it  was  a  pretty,  violet-eyed, 
rosy  cheeked  miss  of  seventeen,  who  boarded  in 
a  house  in  West  14th  Street,  where  I  chanced  to 
meet  her.  Impressionable,  young  and  unsophisti 
cated,  I  was  really  desperately  smitten  with  this 
young  lady.  But  I  was  bashful,  poor,  ungainly  in 
looks,  and  Gertrude  aimed  higher.  Not  that  she  did 
not  honor  me  with  her  friendship,  and  even  her  com 
panionship  when  I  could  take  her  out  and  afford  to 
treat  her,  but  I  always  thought  she  was  taken  up  with 
a  young  man  considerably  older  than  I,  who  was  a 
lawyer  and  a  lieutenant  in  one  of  our  city  regiments, 
and  whereas  I  cared  a  good  bit  for  her,  I  thought 
her  liking  for  me  was  so  slight,  and  her  intentions 
toward  my  sex  so  plainly  mercenary,  that  it  was  not 
many  months  after  my  first  acquaintance  that  T  drop 
ped  and  lost  sight  of  her  for  fully  a  dozen  years. 
And  then  fate  would  that  we  should  meet  again. 
She  was  married,  as  well  as  I,  and  then  it  was — but 
I  am  getting  ahead  of  my  story. 

At  another  time,  I  met  in  a  boarding  house  I  was 

stopping  at,  a  Miss  Josie  R ,  daughter  of  the  late 

General  R ,  of  the  U.  S.  army.  Left  an  orphan 

at  an  early  age,  a  Miss  F was  her  guardian,  and 

after  being  introduced  I  soon  fell  into  the  good 


18 

graces  of  the  ward.  Many  a  pleasant  evening  did 
Josie  and  I  spend  together,  going  to  concerts,  lec 
tures  and  other  amusements.  In  fact  we  were  so 
much  in  each  others  company  that  when  the  summer 
came  on,  and  she  went  away,  I  was  lonesome  indeed, 
and  my  chief  consolation  for  a  while  were  her  regu 
lar  and  interesting  letters.  Ah,  that  was  all  years 
ago,  but  Josie  was  the  first  olive  complexioned,  dark 
eyed,  black  haired  little  piece  of  femininity  who 
woke  me  up  to  the  fact  that  no  matter  what  my 
ideal,  my  boyish  dreams  might  have  been,  there  was 
more  life,  more  depth,  more  passion  to  black  eyes 
than  to  blue.  How  well  do  I  remember,  she  an  in 
nocent  girl,  I  a  perfectly  honorable  young  man,  sit 
ting  one  Sunday  evening  after  our  return  from 
church  in  our  dreary  boarding  house  parlors.  She 
with  her  little  feet  over  the  register  ;  the  lights  very 
low.  She  apparently  anxious  to  go  up  stairs.  I 
perfectly  satisfied  to  be  near  her  and  feel  her  pres 
ence  with  me. 

Well  I  must  go  she  exclaimed  ! 

Oh  no  !  not  yet  Josie,  and  with  that  I  unconsciously 
put  my  hand  in  hers  to  retain  her,  at  the  same 
time  drawing  my  chair  closer  to  her. 

Oh,  if  you  had  your  way  I  suppose  you  would  like 
to  have  me  right  in  your  lap. 


19 

It  was  the  first  time  a  girl  had  ever  said  as  much 
to  me.  I  forget  what  reply  I  made,  but  I  do  k^ow 
whereas  I  had  no  thought  of  such  a  thing,  her  in 
nocently  suggesting  it,  made  me  wish  for  it  with  all 
my  soul,  and  if  she  had  not  roguishly  jumped  up 
and  dashed  for  the  door,  I  know  not,  but  what  her 
suggestion  would  have  been  father  to  the  wish 
with  me- 

Well,  as  bef oresaid ;  when  summer  came,  she  flew 
away  and  whereas  she  corresponded  regularly  and 
often  with  me,  it  was  not  long  thereafter,  that  she 
introduced  me  to  her  husband,  a  man  twice  her  age, 
who  from  subsequent  events  I  discovered,  married 
her  primarily  for  her  money,  and  in  after  years,  writ 
ing  me  quite  frequently  as  she  did,  she  told  me  in  one 
of  her  last  letters  that  she  had  just  then  secured  a 
divorce. 

After  this  comes  a  blank.  The  foregoing  were  a 
boy's,  a  young  man's  loves.  Those  that  follow  are 
the  conquests  of  a  man  of  the  world ;  bitter  recollec 
tions,  as  well  as  pleasant  ones,  and  the  portrajal 
of  the  deep  passions  of  a  man  who  believes  he  has 
felt  the  gamut  of  all  sounds  that  can  ever  touch  a 
man's  heart. 

I  have  referred  to  a  boy's  love,  I  will  skim  over  a 
young  man's  passing  fancies,  but  before  depicting 


20 

the  realities,  the  joys  and  the  miseries  of  a  life  such 
as  a  great  many  endure,  I  want  to  take  my  reader 
into  my  confidence  and  assure  him,  that  up  to  the 
events  referred  to  in  the  following  chapters,  I  was  as 
ignorant  of  the  realities  of  life  as  a  child.  In  fact  I 
was  so  wofully  ignorant  about  certain  things  that  up 
to  my  nineteenth  birthday  I  believed  doctors  and 
storks  were  responsible  for  all  additions  to  this  worlds 
population ;  that  children  were  born  through 
miracles,  or  by  the  grace  of  God,  but  why  they 
should  be  born,  or  what  conduced  thereto,  was  a 
matter  I  had  never  seriously  thought  of. 


CHAPTKR    III. 


At  the  age  of  about  nineteen,  while  boarding  at 
No.  —  East  28th  Street,  I  was  called  one  night  into 
the  apartments  of  a  Spanish  lady,  who  tapped  at  my 
door,  just  as  I  was  about  to  retire.  My  room  was  a 
hall  bedroom,  adjoining  and  connecting  with  her 
suite  of  rooms  ;  and,  as  she  had  not  made  her 
appearance  at  the  dinner-table,  I  supposed  she  was 
sick  ;  and,  in  consequence,  hastened  to  her,  thinking 
I  might  be  of  some  service. 

On  entering  her  room,  and  asking  if  I  could  do 
anything,  or  get  anything  for  her,  she  told  me  to 
send  for  some  beer.  This  I  did ;  and  on  my  mes 
senger's  return,  I  poured  out  two,  three,  four  glasses 
in  succession,  which  she  took  one  after  the  other. 
Then  she  requested  me  to  partake  of  a  glass,  and  on 
declining,  she  had  me  give  her  the  remainder  of  the 
pitcher.  Thinking  for  a  sick  woman,  she  was  doing 
remarkably  well,  I  asked  her  if  there  was  anything 
else  I  could  get  her. 

"  No ;  but  I  is  lonesome,"  she  said  in  her  broken 
English.  "  Sit  down,  and  talk  to  me  1 " 


22 

Sit  down  I  did,  and  picking  up  a  book,  I  thought 
I  might  entertain  her  for  a  half  hour  or  so,  by 
reading. 

After  permitting  me  to  do  so  for  a  while,  she  put 
her  hand  over  the  page,  and  said  : 

"  Tell  me  a  'tory." 

Being  at  a  loss  to  recall  any,  I  remember  her  ask 
ing  me  to  kiss  her,  which  I  did.  She  begged  me  to 
do  so  again.  I  complied;  but,  on  her  requesting 
further  ones,  1  thought  I  had  done  more  than  my 
duty ;  and,  imagining  the  beer  had  gone  to  her  head 
I  told  her  I  guessed  she  did  not  know  what  she  was 
about,  and  that  I  would  send  for  the  chambermaid 
to  come  and  take  care  of  her,  and  darting  pell 
mell  down  stairs,  I  ran  into  the  arms  of  my  landlady. 

"  Well,  sir  !  where  are  you  going  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  want  to  find  Katie,"  (the  chambermaid)  I  re 
plied. 

"  What  for  1  "  she  queried. 

"  Oh !  I  want  to  send  her  to  Mrs.  L.,  who  is  sick  ;" 
I  answered. 

"  How  do  you  know  it ;    were  you  in  her  room  ?  '» 

And,  on  my  answering  in  the  affirmative,  the  old. 
lady  put  a  rather  personal  question  to  me,  which  I 
parried ;  and,  on  her  assuring  me  she  would  look 
after  our  Spanish  friend,  I  retired  to  my  room. 


23 

A  few  days'  thereafter,  my  Spanish  friend  moved 
away,  and  as  the  episode  created  quite  a  good  deal 
of  talk  in  the  house,  I  remember  once  overhearing 
my  landlady's  daughter  saying  to  the  rest  of  the 
ladies  :  "  Oh  !  he  is  a  splendid  young  man  !  "  I  hare 
always  liked  him,  bless  his  heart !  There  are  few 
young  men  who  would  have  acted  as  he  did, "  while 
as  to  the  men  living  in  the  house,  (particularly  the 
young  men,  of  whom  there  were  a  number),  why  the 
abuse,  gaffing  and  guying  I  received  was  enough  to 
shake  even  the  principles  of  a  St.  Anthony.  And 
although — 

"  Right  is  right,  since  God  is  God, 
And  right  the  day  must  win," 

how  often  is  wrong  painted  right,  and  good  in 
tentions,  honest  purposes,  high  principles  and  honor 
itself  is  lost  and  thrown  to  the  winds,  just  because 
we  weak,  poor  and  miserable  sinners,  no  matter  how 
well  we  know  better,  succumb  to  sin  because  we  have 
been  chaffed,  guyed  and  joked  about.  Not  that 
guying,  joking  and  chaffing  were  the  only  reasons 
for  a  complete  revulsion  of  feeling,  and  change  of 
principles  within  me,  but  after  first  debiting  all 
wrong  that  I  ever  did  to  my  own  worser  nature,  to 
which  beyond  question  eighty  per  cent  is  attribu 
table,  nearly  all  the  rest  must  be  charged  to  the 


"  Eve "   with  whom,  sooner  or  later,  all  of  Adam's 
seed  come  in  contact. 

And  now  let  me  again  call  my  readers'  attention  to 
the  fact,  that  these  confessions  are  not  the  vain  im 
aginings  of  a  modern  writer,  of  a  man  who  picks  up 
his  pen,  draws  on  his  imagination,  or  on  stories  he 
has  heard  at  second-hand,  but  they  are  the  plain, 
unvarnished  portrayals  of  events  that  actually  hap 
pened,  and,  as  such,  are  perhaps  crudely  and  with 
possibly  too  little  varnish  and  gloss  re-told  here  for 
the  edification,  amusement,  and  possibly  benefit  of 
those  who,  like  me,  endeavour  to  do  right,  live  right, 
and  die  right,  but  who  do  wrong,  live  wrong  and  die 
wrong,  because  "  when  Satan  tempted  the  woman 
she  fell,  and  ever  since  she  has  kept  man  falling  with 
her." 


CHAPTER    IV. 

|      Truth  is  ever  stranger  than  fiction  ! 

In  the  very  room  where  I  unconsciously  played 
the  part  of  a  modern  Joseph,  fate  had  me  meet 
a  woman  who  did  more  to  bring  me  to  a  knowledge 
of  myself  and  the  realities  of  life,  than  all  my 
previous  or  subsequent  acquaintances. 

When  I  met  her,  she  had  just  reached  the  age  of 
twenty-two ;  of  rather  medium  height,  she  was 
graceful  as  a  fawn,  not  over  stout,  her  figure  was 
x  the  embodiment  of  all  perfect  lines.  I  honestly  do 
not  believe  there  was  an  angle  anywhere  about  her. 
Fair  of  face,  with  the  daintiest  little  nose  and  ears, 
the  most  perfect,  even  and  white  teeth,  encircled  by 
the  veriest  rosebud  of  a  mouth,  a  young  man  such 


I 


as  I,  needed  only  the  eutrancement  of  a  look  into  her 
veritable  "  violet  eyes  "  to  fall  head  over  heels  in  love. 
She  was,  without  exception,  the  prettiest  woman  I 
had  ever  seen,  and  when  one  night  I  found  her  sit 
ting  immediately  opposite  me  at  our  boarding  house 
dinner  table,  I  was  completely  captivated. 

Our  rooms  being  adjoining,  we  were  in  the  habit 
of  frequently  playing  a  game  of  chess,  which  usually 
took  place  in  her  boudoir,  the  door  (so  as  to  keep  up 
the  proprieties),  always  slightly  ajar. 

One  Saturday  night,  after  a  more  than  ordinarily 
interesting  game,  she  caught  me  napping,  whereas 
I  had  the  play  so  planned  that  in  another  move  or 
two  I  thought  she  would  have  been  beaten. 

But  she  beat  me! 

I  forget  what  I  said. 

It  was  something  rather  hasty,  and  my  face 
showed  my  discomforture. 

I  do  not  know  what  at  that  moment  prompted  her, 
but  she  quickly  moved  our  little  table  aside,  and 
commenced  taking  me  to  task  for  my  bad  manners, 
my  boyishness  and  lack  of  good  breeding,  and  in 
short,  talked  so  sharply,  emphatically  and  pointedly 
to  me,  that  from  that  moment  I  think  I  became  a 
different  being.  From  that  moment  my  life  under 
went  a  change. 


27 

Until  then  I  Lad  been  a  boy,  but  at  last  I  had  met 
one  who  was  to  influence  me  for  good  through  life. 

How  little  women  know  what  power  they  have  over 
our  sex,  particularly  over  those  whose  hearts,  when 
young,  are  peculiarly  responsive  to  elevating 
thoughts,  noble  ambitions  and  lofty  purposes ! 

The  woman  I  met  was  noble.  She  lifted  me  out 
of  myself,  and  ever  will  I  bless  her  memory. 


CHAPTER   V. 


As  I  sit  here  with  pen  in  hand  and  think  of  those 
early  days,  how,  after  being  thoroughly  scolded,  this 
woman  took  pains  to  smooth  over  my  discomforture, 
how  she  brought  me  out  of  myself,  how  she,  a  woman 
of  the  world,  awoke  me  to  the  realities  of  life,  how 
she  spurred  me  on,  how,  (without  my  being  aware  of 
it)  she  awoke  me  to  a  better  knowledge  of  myself  and 
the  capabilities  within  me,  and  when  I  recollect  once, 
on  her  birthday,  I  sent  her  some  "American  Beauties," 
which  in  those  days  were  almost  a  princely  gift  for 
me,  and  although  I  sent  them  anonymously,  how  she 
took  me  to  task  therefor,  and  actually  assured  me 
"  Heaven,"  (her  room)  would  be  closed  to  me  if  I 
grew  spoony,"  and  in  my  then  circumstances,  "  reck 
less,''  and  when  I  think  of  the  many  little  comforts 
she  presented  me  with,  and  how  she  filled  my  dress 
ing-table  with  handi-work,  such  as  a  woman  only 
can  overwhelm  a  man  with  ! 


In  short,  when  I  think  of  all  she  did  for  me,  is  it 
a  wonder  that  for  what  I  am,  (next  to  my  mother),  I 
involuntarily  tha'nk  the  woman  who  was  to  me  what 
George  Sand  was  to  Chopin  ? 

For  about  three  months  I  enjoyed  her  elevating, 
her  enobling  society,  for  about  three  months  she  was 
the  beginning  and  ending  of  everything  to  me. 
Then  came  the  summer,  and  she  went  away. 

Will  I  ever  forget  the  day  we  parted  ?  I  felt  as  a 
child  feels  when,  after  having  always  hung  on  to  his 
mother's  apron  strings,  he  is  for  the  first  time 
deprived  of  her.  She  went  to  Saratoga,  and  my 
business  kept  me  in  New  York.  Once  she  visited  the 
city  for  a  few  short  days,  but  it  did  not  take  me  long 
to  learn  that,  whereas  I  would  have  given  her  the 
full,  long-pent-up  affection  due  a  woman  who  first 
took  an  interest  in  me,  she  looked  upon  me  as  upon 
a  plaything  to  amuse  her  for  a  while ;  and,  whereas 
there  was  only  an  actual  difference  of  a  little  less 
than  three  years  in  our  respective  ages,  she  never 
theless  felt  so  much  older  and  superior,  that  in  con 
sequence  her  feelings  were  more  motherly  perhaps 
than  the  feelings  of  a  woman  would  be  for  a  man 
who  worshipped  her  as  I  did. 

In  fact,  as  I  think  of  those  days,  I  was  then  the 
novice,  she  the  preceptor.  She  liked  me  very  much 


30 

To  this  day  she  still  retains  a  warm  spot  in  her  heart 
for  me,  but  excepting  the  few  chance  days  she  spent 
here,  after  first  breaking  off  our  acquaintanceship,  I 
never  even  had  the  opportunity  of  sounding  her  on 
those  days  gone  by,  as  within  less  than  a  year  there 
after,  she  re-married. 

And  this  induces  me  to  say,  whereas  from  me  she 
had  all  the  first  love  of  a  grateful  heart,  all  the  first 
thoughts  of  a  boy  who  threw  his  whole  life  at  her 
feet,  and  of  whom  she  might  have  even  made  a  very 
slave,  she  nevertheless  knew  a  time  would  come  when 
the  boy  would  be  a  man,  and  to  her  credit  let  it  be 
remembered,  she  lifted  the  boy  out  of,  rather  than 
dragged  him  into,  the  mire. 

Once  I  recollect  her  being  exceedingly  "triste," 
and  sad  at  the  thought  of  my  perhaps  caring  too 
much  for  her,  but  I  think  because  she  had  a  con 
science,  as  well  as  a  heart,  was  she  so  solicitous 
about  my  mental,  as  well  as  my  worldly  advancement- 

This  fact,  however,  I  want  to  impress  on  my 
readers.  No  woman  can  ever  truly  care  for  a  man 
where  the  natural  order  of  things  are  reversed.  A 
woman,  to  be  happy,  wants — not  a  slave — but  a 
master.  She  must  be  driven,  not  drive  herself.  The 
happiest  women  are  those,  who,  in  loving  their  hus 
bands,  know  them  as  their  masters. 


31 

,  in  one  of  his  creations,  goes  somewhat  to  the 
extreme  and  in  his  "  Nana,"  claims  :  "  The  more  un 
kind,  the  more  brutal  a  man,  the  more  loving,  the 
more  subservient  the  woman." 

Differing   with  him,  although  not  forgetting  the 
old  adage  : 

"  A  woman  ;  a  dog  ,  a  mulberry  tree  : — 
The  more  you  beat  them,  the  better  they  bo  ;  " 

/    I  have  yet  to  see  the  man  who  will  retain  a  decent 
woman's  love  if  he  be  a  brute  pure  and  simple.  ~ 


CHAPTER  VI. 


What  lasting  impressions  sermons  sometimes 
leave  ! 

Many  years  ago,  I  heard  one  taken  from  the  Fifty- 
first  Psalm,  fourth  verse : 

"Against  Thee,  THEE  ONLY,  have  I  sinned,  anddone 
this  iniquity  in  Thy  sight" 

It  was  the  heart-cry  of  David  ! 

Technically,  he  was  wrong. 

He  had  sinned,  not  only  against  God,  "  but  against 
Bath-sheba  "  as  well  as  "  Uriah  ; "  but,  to  David's 
mind,  although  he  was  fully  conscious  and  aware  of 
his  sin  against  others,  there  was  one  greater c<  Being  " 
against  whom  he  had  sinned  more  than  against  either 
the  woman  or  her  husband.  It  was  against  God, 
against  Him  only. 

Take  David's  life  !  What  a  "  grand  one  "  it  was. 
Follow  him  from  the  time  he  first  visited  his  brethren 


who  were  fighting  under  Saul  against  the  Philis 
tines. 

Listen  to  the  words  of  their  champion  !  David 
hears  them.  His  indignation,  his  wrath,  is  kindled. 
He  makes  inquiries.  His  brother  Eliab's  anger  is 
aroused.  He  says  : 

•'  Why  earnest  thou  hither  ?  I  know  thy  pride,  and 
the  naughtiness  of  thine  heart ;  "  and  he  tries  to 
squelch  his  brother. 

But  David  lias  a  mission. 

God  had  sent  him. 

He  goes  to  Saul,  and  Saul  says  nnto  David : 

"  '  Go  !  and  the  Lord  be  with  you.'  " 

And  God  was  with  him,  and  although  he  came  unto 
the  Philistine  as  unto  a  dog,  with  staves,  God  deli 
vered  Goliath  into  the  hands  of  the  stripling. 

And  then  later,  when  Saul's  jealousy  was  time  and 
again  aroused ;  and,  on  several  occasions  Saul  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  man  he  had  so  dor-ply  wronged,  liow 
nobly  did  David  requite  good  for  evil?  And  when,  as 
captain  of  his  band,  he  followed  and  slew  the 
Amalakites,  how  equitably  and  fairly  did  he  divide 
the  spoil,  not  alone  among  the  four  hundred  that 
went  to  battle,  but  also  among  the  two  hundred  that 
were  so  faint  that  they  could  not  follow  David,  but 
had  to  stay  back,  and  take  care  of  the  stuff. 


And  follow  him  through  his  entire  life.  What  in 
spirations,  what  wonderful  conceptions  are  his 
Psalms,  his  Prayers,  his  Songs. 

And  to  quote  from  the  Bible  itself,  "  He  was  a  man 
after  God's  own  heart." 

Yet  this  man  sinned. 

Turn  to  the  Second  Book  of  Samuel,  the  Twelfth 
Chapter  : 

"  And  the  Lord  sent  Nathan  unto  David.  And  he  came  unto 
him,  and  said  unto  him  : 

*  There  were  two  men  in  one  city :  the  one  rich,  and  the 
other  poor.  The  rich  man  had  exceeding  many  flocks  and  herds, 
but  the  poor  man  had  nothing,  save  one  little  ewe  lamb,  which 
he  had  bought  and  nourished  up,  and  it  grew  up  together  with 
him  and  with  his  children ;  it  did  eat  of  his  own  meat  and 
drink  of  his  own  cup,  and  lay  in  his  bosom,  and  was  unto  him 
as  a  daughter. 

And  there  came  a  traveler  unto  the  rich  man,  and  he  spared 
to  take  of  his  own  flock,  and  of  his  own  herd,  to  dress  for  the 
wayfaring  man  that  was  come  unto  him ;  but  took  the  poor 
man's  lamb  and  dressed  it  for  the  man  that  was  come  unto  him.' 

And  David's  anger  was  greatly  kindled  against  the  man  ;  and 
he  said  to  Nathan :  As  the  Lord  liveth,  the  man  that  hath  done 
this  thing  shall  surely  die.  And  he  shall  restore  the  lamb  four 
fold  because  he  did  this  thing  and  had  no  pity. 

And  Nathan  said  to  David  :  THOU  ART  THE  MAN,  Thus 
saith  the  Lord  God  of  Israel,  I  anointed  thee  king  over  Israel, 
and  I  delivered  thee  out  of  the  hand  of  Saul,  and  I  gave  thee 
thy  master's  house,  and  thy  master's  wives  into  thy  bosom,  and 
gave  thee  the  house  of  Israel  and  of  Judah  ;  and,  if  that  had 
been  too  little,  I  would  moreover  have  given  unto  thee  such  and 
such  things.  Wherefore  hast  thou  despised  the  commandment 
of  the  Lord  to  do  evil  in  His  sight ;  thou  hast  killed  Uriah  the 
Hittite  with  the  sword,  and  hast  taken  his  wife  to  be  thy  wife." 


35 

And  then  Nathan  continues,  and  tells  David,  how 
the  sword  shall  never  depart  from  his  house,  that  he 
will  raise  up  evil  against  him  in  his  own  house,  how 
the  child  born  unto  David  by  Uriah's  wife  should 
die,  how  his  wives  should  be  given  before  his  very 
eyes  unto  others,  and  concludes  with  : 

"  For  thou  did'st  it  secretly,  but  I  will  do  this  thing  before 
all  Israel,  and  before  the  sun." 

And  David  said  unto  Nathan:    "/  hare  sinned  against  the 


And  God  loved  this  man  and  forgave  him. 

How  forcibly  the  above  should  impress  itself  on 
every  thinking  mind.  How  indubitably  it  should 
convince  us  that  the  very  best  of  us  are  prone  to  sin. 
"What  believer  in  the  Bible  would  dare  to  assert  King 
David  is  to-day  other  than  near  the  veriest  "  Holy  of 
Holies  "  in  Heaven  ? 

He  sinned  —  he  repented  —  God  forgave  him. 

*******          *          *         *    ' 

After  my  George  Sand  dropped  out  of  my  life, 
I  met  with  many  temptations,  with  many  women. 

Some  were  angels,  some  otherwise. 

Among  them  was  a  girl  who,  when  I  first  met  her, 
irresistibly  attracted  me. 

We  find  our  chief  delights  and  pleasures  through 
out  life  — 

In  the  anticipation,  not  the  realization  • 


36 

In  the  seeking,  not  the  finding  ; 
In  the  wishing,  not  the  having  ; 
In  the  dreaming,  not  the  awakening. 
And  thus  it  is  with  love. 
Some  poet  says  : 

Love  is  of  man's  life  a  thing  apart, 
'Tis  woman's  whole  existence  ; 

and,  although  I  hardly  wish  to  throw  down  the 
gauntlet,  nevertheless,  my  experience  with  women 
has  taught  me  a  woman  may  love  passionately, 
deeply,  sincerely,  but  woman  can  only  love  one  thing 
at  a  time.  Her  love  is  selfish,  (at  any  rate  usually 
so).  She  loves  what  she  loves,  because  she  loves.  There 
is  no  reason,  no  method,  no  fathoming  her  love. 
When  given  at  all,  it  is  given  freely,  unthinkingly,  un 
wittingly,  sometimes  madly,  always  unreasoningly. 

Man's  love  is  of  a  different  order.  If  the  love  of 
a  true  man,  of  a  man  in  full  possession  of  his  senses, 
a  strong  constitution,  a  healthy  appetite,  a  stout 
heart,  there  is  always  in  the  man's  love,  the  spirit  of 
what  the  French  call  "noblesse  oblige" 

The  woman  bends  ;  the  man  yields. 

The  woman  clings ;  the  man  protects. 

The  woman  takes  ;   the  man  gives. 

It  is  ever  the  story  of  the  ivy  and  the  oak. 

And  then  there  is  another  difference  ; 


37 

Man  says :  I  am  happy  because  I  am  loved. 

Woman  says  :  I  am  happy  because  I  love  him. 

Man  says  ;  I  will  work  for  her,  slave  for  her,  and  I 
will  win  her. 

Woman  says  :  I  will  love  him  so  much,  that  he  can 
not  help  but  love  me. 

Man  says  ;  I  love  her  too  deeply. 

Woman  says  :  I  do  not  love  him  as  he  should  be 
loved. 

M.iu  is  satisfied  when  he  can  say  :  I  am  loved. 

Woman  is  satisfied  when  she  can  say  :  1  love. 

The  girl  I  speak  of  entered  my  life.  I  thought 
I  loved  her.  She  thought  she  loved  me.  She 
married  another  man ;  and,  whereas  I  thus  early 
learned — 

'Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost — 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all ; 

nevertheless — 

Love  was,  to  my  impassioned  soul, 
Not  as  with  others,  a  mere  part 
Of  my  existence  ;  but  the  whole — 
The  very  life-breath — of  my  heart ;      j 

and,  as  I  was  young — scarcely  twenty —  the  scar  left 
at  this  early  age,  ever  and  ever  has  left  its  impress 
indelibly  on  my  mind. 

Not  that  I  turned  woman-hater.  On  the  contrary, 
the  rather — 


38 


Ah  !  woman — in  this  world  of  ours— 
What  gift  can  be  compared  to  thee  ? 

and  having  always  been  rather  retiring,  studious  and 
bashful,  I  had,  until  then,  rather  shunned,  than 
sought  the  other  sex. 

Now  I  sought  relief,  a  change.  I  became  fond  of 
society,  of  amusements,  of  distractions  and  even  of 
dissipations.  I  entered  life  with  a  vim.  Nothing  that 
a  young  man  of  the  period  could  do,  I  did  not  do. 
From  being  parsimonious  and  close,  I  became  prodi 
gal  and  spendthrif ty. 

I  inaugarated  a  series  of  concerts.  I  moved  largely 
in  a  circle  of  Bohemianism,  such  as  can  be  found  in 
New  Tork  City  alone.  My  name  became  interna 
tional. 

Once  I  remember  calling  on  one  of  my  patronesses. 
It  was  one  evening  at  her  apartment. 

She  asked  me  my  age. 

"  Twenty-one  next  birthday;  "  I  replied. 

"  Twenty-one  next  birth-day  ! ''  she  ejaculated. 

Why,  Mr.  F !  What  a  life  you  have  before  you. 

Why,  I  thought  you  were  at  least  twenty- eight,  and 
even  that  would  be  young  for  a  man  who  has  done 
what  you  have  done.  Just  think  !  if  you  continue  on 
in  this  way,  when  you  are  forty,  people  will  think  you 
are  sixty,  because  you  have  commenced  life  so  young," 


39 

And  thus  I  was  flattered,  sought  after,  and  had 
adulation  lavished  upon  me,  when  fate  would  I  should 
meet  a  woman — a  saint,  an  angel — whose  voice 
originally  brought  about  our  introduction,  but  whose 
lovability,  goodness  and  beauty  so  indelibly  left 
its  impress  on  my  mind,  that  ever  after  meeting  her, 
I  have,  involuntarily  perhaps,  looked  upon  homeli 
ness  in  a  woman  as  unpardonable. 

Strong  language  perhaps,  but 

*  **#*** 

The  recollection  of  the  sermon  on  "  David's  Sin," 
kept  me  from  many  a  sin  I  otherwise  would  have  been 
guilty  of. 

And,  irrespective  of  this  sermon,  the  recollection 
of  a  vow  once  taken,  cannot  but  ever  leave  its 
impress  on  a  man,  particularly  when  his  early 
"  bringing-up  "  and  education  has  been  of  a  character 
other  than  baneful  and  pernicious;  and  whereas, 
when  I  became  a  church  member,  I  was  other  than 
what  fate  had  made  me  at  the  time  I  now  write  of,  I 
remember,  in  early  days,  being  presented  with  a 
beautifully -bound  pocket  Bible,  by  a  dearly-beloved 
brother, 

In  presenting  it  to  me,  he  wrote  on  the  first  page  ; 

44  And  that  from  a  child,  thou  hast  known  the  Holy  Scriptures, 
which  are  able  to  make  thee  wise  unto  salvation,  through  faith 
which  is  in  Christ  Jesus.  All  Scripture  is  given  by  inspiration 


40 


of  God,  and  is  profitable  for  doctrine,  for  reproof,  for   cor 
rection,  and  for  instruction  in  righteousness ." 

In  another  part,  he  wrote  the  Fourth  and  Fifth 
Verses  of  the  Twenty-fifth  Psalm  : 

"  Show  me  Thy  ways,  O  Lord  ;  teach  me  Thy  paths.  Lead 
me  in  Thy  truth,  and  teach  me  ;  for  Thou  art  the  God  of  my 
salvation.  On  Thee  do  I  wait  all  the  day." 

Indelibly  and  forever  they  stamped  themselves  on 
my  mind. 

Straws  show  which  way  the  wind  blows. 

Ail  of  us  are  born  in  sin.  In  sin  did  our  mothers 
conceive  us  ;  and,  whereas  I  am  far  from  attempting 
to  portray  myself  in  the  subsequent  chapters  as  other 
than  what  I  am,  nevertheless  I  do  assert,  thanks  to 
the  font,  from  which  all  who  choose  may  imbibe, 
thanks  to  the  Book  of  all  Books,  from  which  naught 
but  knowledge  and  blessedness  may  be  gained, 
thanks  to  that  Book,  and  my  study  of  it,  I  never 
could  wilfully  commit  a  wrong  my  soul  did  not 
revolt  at. 

Once  I  heard  a  minister,  old  in  years  and  experi 
ence,  assert,  had  two  men  started  in  life  under 
similar  advantages,  one  devoting  his  time  and  study 
to  Homer,  Virgil,  Cato,  Plato,  Herodotus  and  all  the 
classic  and  modern  writers,  and  had  the  other  only 
read  and  re-read  the  Bible,  the  latter  would  im 
measurably  outstrip  the  other,  even  as  a  greyhound 


41 
outstrips  the  turtle. 

He  claimed  knowledge,  God's  knowledge,  (know- 
ledge  of  God)  the  one  thing  needful,  and  no  matter 
how  little  a  man  knew  of  aught  else,  Bible  knowledge 
would  lift  him  way  and  above  all  fellow  men. 

But  I  must  go  on  with  my  story. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


My  most  serious  affair,  was  iny  saddest.    ] 

Had  this  saint  not  been  rudely  snatched  away,  the 
world  would  have  heard  of  a  singer,  the  like  of 
whom  was  never  known.  Her  voice  belonged  to 
Heaven,  to  Heaven  it  returned.  Such  as  she  are 
not  long  meant  for  this  earth !  Of  such  as  she, 
Heaven  must  be  peopled. 

I  made  her  acquaintance  at  the  Westminister 
Hotel. 

Oversleeping  myself,  I  was  awakened  one  morning 
by  a  clear  silvery  soprano  voice,  which  seemed  to 
penetrate  and  vibrate  through  every  corner  of  my 
apartment.  The  voice  came  from  the  room  ad 
joining.  I  listened  !  "  Blumenthal's  Requital,"  was 
the  song. 

The  singer  had  reached  : 

"  But  fiercer  the  tempest  rose  than  before, 
"When  the  angel  paused  at  a  humble  door." 

This  song  essentially  speaks  "  the  history  of  a  life." 


43 


It  is  more   ambitious    than   a   mere  ballad,  and  an 
artist  only  can  do  it  justice. 
When  the  singer  reached  : 

"  A  weary  woman,  pale,  worn  and  thin, 
With  the  brand  upon  her  of  want  and  sin  ;  " 

her  "very  soul"  seemed  to  permeate  the  words. 
I  listened  spell  bound,  and  when  she  came  to : 

When  the  eastern  morning  prew  bright  and  red, 
At  the  first  bright  sunbeam  the  angel  fled, 
Having  kissed  the  woman,  and  left  her  dead." 

I  involuntarily  felt  "no  voice  could  speak  as  that 
voice  had  spoken  "  without  belonging  to  that  of  a 
"woman  of  sorrow,  and  acquainted  with  grief." 

A   few  moments   thereafter,  she   commenced  the 
same  authors : 

**  I  had  a  message  to  send  her; 
To  her  whom  my  soul  loves  best. 
But  I  had  my  task  to  finish, 
And  she  had  gone  Home  to  rest." 

and  when  she  reached  the  agitato  movement ; 

"  I  cried  in  my  passionate  longing." 
her  voice  trembling  with  very  passion  and  emotion  : 

"  I  myself  heard  a  strain  of  music, 
lake  unto  an  angels  song," 

and  as  her  notes  seemed  to  soar  higher  and  higher, 
involuntarily;  I  fell  on  my  knees  in  a  very  excstasy 
of  delight. 


I  had  heard  many  singers,  every  note  of  those  two 
songs  were  familiar  to  me ;  but  never  before  had  I 
grasped  the  beauty,  the  depth,  the  possibilities,  aye 
the  history  these  songs  so  graphically  describe  and 
portray. 

I  felt  perforce  I  must  meet  the  singer. 

That  day  I  secured  an  introduction.     Her  name 
was  Adelaide  Kingman.     Her  age  just  twenty-one 
She  was  married,  but  not  living  with  her  husband. 
She  had  secured  a  separation.    A  Catholic  by  birth, 
she  would  not  demand  a  divorce. 

She  was  the  leading  soprano  at  one  of  our  fashion 
able  city  churches.  On  our  first  acquaintance  I 
accompanied  her  to  her  choir  loft,  although  after 
arriving  there,  I  stole  away  to  some  distant  chancel, 
where  I  could  the  better  enjoy  "from  afar"  the  sound 
of  her  clear  bird  like  notes  as  they  would  float  up 
higher  and  higher  until  finally  they  seemed  to  almost 
reach  the  Heavenly  singers  themselves.  And  like 
the  singers  above,  her  voice  seemed  the  rather  to  be 
part  of  that  celestial  choir,  than  that  of  ordinal  y 
mortals. 

Worship  of  music  had  draw^i  us  to  each  other. 
The  love  of  music  bound  us  close  together.  What 
good  to  rehearse  her  history  ?  She  was  tall,  willowy, 
beautiful,  queenly !  Her  face  like  unto  that  of  a 


45 

portrait  at  Rome,  which  I  had  once  seen  when  a  boy, 
(  it  was  the  likeness  of  "Portia,"  )  Purity,  nobility, 
and  goodness  were  indelibly  stamped  on  her  brow. 

My  life  in  those  days  was  one  continual  song.  She 
had  taken  a  cosey  little  flat.  In  the  eyes  of  the  world 
I  was  her  boarder — she  my  landlady.  How  beauti 
fully  she  arranged  everything ! 

Many  a  day  would  I  recline  at  her  feet,  stretched 
out  full  length  on  a  rug,  or  tiger  skin,  my  eyes  half 
closed,  my  ears  listening  to  her  sweet  voice  in 
Handel's  beautiful  "Lascia  chio  panga,"  or  some  ne\v 
*'  Ave  Maria"  which  she  had  just  corne  across. 

I  wished  her  to  appear  in  Opera.  I  induced  Col. 
Mapleson  to  hear  her.  He  was  enchanted,  completely 
carried  away. 

She  refused  all  offers. 

"No  dear;  'she  would  say  to  me,  *'  the  glitter  of 
the  stage,  the  glory  of  a  histrionic  existence  does  not 
entrance  me;  I  love  quiet,  home  comforts,  my 
present  existence.  To  sing  to  you,  to  please  my 
friends,  to  chant  the  Benedictus,  the  Benedic  Anima, 
the  Jubilate,  or  the  Te  Deum  in  the  temple  of 
the  Lord,  is  the  extent  of  my  ambition. 

In  my  day  I  had  heard  Patti,  Gerster,  Titien, 
Lucca,  Nielsou,  Sembrich.  In  fact  every  noted  singer 
of  the  last  two  decades.  When  a  boy,  I  once  heard 


46 

Clara  Louise  Kellogg  in  ^L'Etotie  ctu  Aord"  In  those 
days  Kellog's  voice  was  one  of  the  purest,  clearest, 
most  silvery  sopranos  heaven  ever  gave  to  woman. 
When  she  reached  that  beautiful  prayer  which  seems 
to  take  the  listener  to  the  very  Gates  of  Paradise 
the  tears  involuntarily  started  to  my  eyes. 

At  my  request  Mrs.  Kingman  studied  this  Opera. 
For  days  we  were  rehearsing  it.  I  secured  other 
singers,  and  a  splendid  chorus,  in  short  the  best  talent 
then  available.  We  gave  a  private  performance  at  the 
theatre  to  our  friends,  and  the  most  select  com 
pany  of  critics,  impressarios,  musicans,  and  dilettanti 
that  I  believe  were  ever  gathered  at  a  similar  perfor 
mance. 

When  Adelaide  reached  the  prayer  scene,  our 
audience  involuntarily  bowed  ther  heads,  they  felt 
the  presence  of  a  divinity  in  their  midst.  I  positively 
believe  half  the  people  were  speaking  their  Deus 
Miserators.  There  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  audience. 
Every  heart  was  touched.  My  old  friend  Maurice 
Strakosch  was  among  my  invited  guests. 

"My  God,  Mr.  F.;'' he  exclaimed,  "get  her  to 
appear  in  public  !  She  is  a  second  Malibran.  Her 
voice  is  like  Jenny  Lind's.  The  world  cannot  lose 
so  great  an  artist." 

Genial  old  Max  Maretzek  went  and  embraced  her, 


47 

"Madame,  you  must  adopt  the  stage,"  he  ex 
claimed.  "  Your  fortune  is  assured.  The  world  can 
not  afford  to  lose  yv.u.  You  are  born  for  Grand 
Opera." 

All  of  no  avail ! 

"What  is  the  good  of  it,  dear?  "  she  would  say  to 
me.  "If  I  went  on  the  stage,  my  life  would  be  one 
of  hard  work,  drudgery,  and  finally— disappointment. 
I  am  happy  as  I  am!  I  hardly  think  I  will  live  long 
anyhow!  Should  I  however  live  to  old  age,  with  loss 
of  voice,  I  would  lose  friends." 

"That  ia  no  reason,"  I  would  answer.  "Your 
voice  is  heaven  sent,  by  heaven  given.  If  you  once 
appear  under  proper  auspices,  your  fame  will  spread 
throughout  the  world.  I  have  heard  many  singers, 
many  voices,  none  like  your*.  Nobody  can  sing  as 
you  do! " 

"I  know  my  voice  pleases,  I  am  grateful  to  those 
who  applauded  me  the  other  night,  and  if  ever  I  was 
on  the  point  of  yielding,  it  was  when  after  the 
"prayer  scene  "  the  house  arose  as  if  of  one  accord 
and  cheered  and  applauded  as  they  did." 

"And  did  not  that  awaken  you?  Did  that  not 
send  your  bl  o,l  coursing  through  your  veins  with  a 
renewed  impetus?  Did  you  hear  what  Albites  said? 
Had  you  ever ?  " 


"  That  is  just  it,  dear  !  The  excitement  was  too 
much.  You  know  I  have  heart  trouble.  I  honestly 
believe  if  I  underwent  many  such  scenes  of  excite 
ment,  I  would  some  day — but  you  know  what  Dr.  S. 
says,  and  I  then  would  be  lost  not  alone  to  the 
world,  but  to  you  as  well,  and  you  know,  dear'* — with 
that  she  stooped  down  and  kissed  me — and  I  said  no 

more. 

****** 

The  Chicago  Express  was  speeding  at  a  lightning 
gait  to  catch  up  on  some  thirty  minutes  which 
had  been  lost  before  reaching  Albany.  It  was 
a  dark  and  dreary  night.  The  rain  continuously  beat 
down  in  a  slow,  drizzly  sort  of  way,  but  not  heavily 
enough  to  penetrate  or  lift  the  thick  fog,  through 
which  the  weary  engineer  was  steadily  guiding  his 
puffing,  snorting  and  noisy  (almost  human)  servant. 

Irvington,  Yonkers  and  Eiverdale  had  just  been 
passed,  Spuyten  Duyvil  had  been  reached,  aud  the 
lights  of  the  city  were  looming  hazily  through  the 
fog,  when  on  making  the  bend  that  separates  West- 
chester  County  from  the  Island  of  Mauhattan,  the 
engineer  saw  the  red  light,  the  danger  signal,  ri<  ht 
in  front  of  him.  To  reverse  his  engine,  pull  his 
throttle  valve,  give  the  warning,  and  belch  forth 
shriek  after  shriek  was  the  work  of  a  serond.  But  it 


too  late — too  late.  The  crash  could  not  be 
avoided  ! 

I  was  at  the  depot  awaiting  the  arrival  of  her  who 
was  my  one  fair  singer.  Train  delayed,  was  announced 
on  the  beards.  Half  an  hour  late  ! 

I  was  cooling  off  my  heels  as  best  I  could,  when 
all  of  a  sudden  the  wires  flashed  the  news ; 

GREAT  RAILROAD  ACCIDENT!  THE 
CHICAGO  EXPRESS  WRECKED  AT  SPUYTEN 

DUYVIL 

****** 

Through  the  influence  of  a  friend  who  was  con 
nected  with  the  railroad  company,  I  was  one  of  the 
first  to  get  aboard  the  special  that  was  dispatched 
to  the  scene  of  the  wreck. 

What  need  to  describe  the  sights  which  there  met 
our  view?  The  newspaper  accounts  the  next  day 
were  graphic  and  descriptive  enough. 

Among  those  who  must  have  been  instantly  killed 
through  shock,  (I  never  believed  it  from  personal 
injuries),  was  my  Adelaide. 

I  lost  a  woman  I  loved — a  woman  who  loved  me ; 
the  world  a  voice  which  only  those  who  enter  heaven 

will  ever  hear  again. 

*  *  *  »  • 

In   one    of    the    modest    little   plots    at  , 

D 


50 


there  has  been  erected  an  unpretentious  monument. 
'T  is  the  figure  of  an  angel  singer.  Hand  pointing 
upward. 

Among  the  many  costly  mausoleums,  and  elegant 
works  of  marblic  art,  this  one  would  ordinarily 
be  lost  sight  of,  were  not  the  beholders  invariably 
struck  with  the  clear  cut,  beautifully  chiseled 

features  of  the  face.  When  Mr. ,  (the  sculptor), 

executed  his  order,  he  enthused  over  his  work  : 

The  angel  represents  my  Singer, 


RECQUIESCAT   IN   PACE. 


CHAP1ER  VIII. 

44  Where,  and  how,  shall  I  earliest  meet  her? 
What  are  the  words  she  first  will  say  ? 
By  what  name  shall  I  learn  to  greet  her  ? 
I  know  not  now,  but  'twill  come  some  day!  " 

In  the  fall  of  187 — ,  I  met  the  girl,  the  woman,  who 
in  after  years  became  my  wife. 

Always  of  an  impressionable  nature,  quick  to  take 
likes  or  dislikes,  I  had  to  meet  a  person  but  once  to 
either  quickly  form  a  liking  for,  or  a  dislike  to 
them. 

The  first  time  I  met  Edith  B ,  I  was  attracted 

to  her.  Or  the  occasion  of  our  second  meeting  I 
fell  in  love  !  When  we  met  for  the  third  time,  I 
knew,  no  matter  what  my  loves  (t)  of  the  past  had 
been,  here  was  a  girl  whose  face,  whose  eyes,  whose 
smile,  were  the  whcle  world  to  me.  She  was  the 
Alpha  and  Omega  of  everything,  the  beginning  and 
ending  of  life. 

Previous  experiences  had  taught  me  something  of 
the  world,  her  eyes  seemed  to  speak  of  heaven,  and 
when  she  smiled!  what  an  indescribable  glimpse 


52  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

of  sunshine  then  lightened  up  her  face !  Not  that 
prettier  women  had  not  come  across  my  path,  but 
what  she  lacked  in  beauty  was  more  than  redeemed 
by  her  classic  profile,  her  graceful  glide,  her  willowy 
figure,  her  low  musical  voice  !  In  fact  I  thought 
she  possessed  all  that  I  cared  for  in  woman  !  To 
me  she  was  perfect !  Perfection  personified  ! ! 

I  had  not  known  her  a  month  before  I  undertook 
to  write  her  mother,  asking  permission  to  take  the 
daughter  to  the  Opera.  I  had  scarcely  despatched 
my  messenger  when  I  regretted  doing  so,  and  after 
the  young  lady  wrote  me,  in  her  mother's  absence 
she  had  opened  my  letter,  and  thanking  me,  knew 
her  mother  would  never  allow  her  to  go  out 
unaccompanied  by  one  of  her  parents ;  I  thought 
I  had  made  an  ass  of  myself,  and  was  afraid  my 
impetuosity  had  ruined  me. 

Providence  willed  otherwise,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  I  was  in  the  habit  of  regularly  visiting  the 
family,  never,  however,  seeing  the  daughter  except 
ing  in  the  presence  of  the  mother.  In  fact,  as  a 
usual  thing,  the  mother  and  I  did  most  of  the  talking, 
the  daughter  occasionally  putting  in  a  word  or  two, 
but  it  was  very  seldom  that  she  did  other  than  listen 
to  our  conversation,  and  whereas,  many  a  time  did 
I  become  conscious  of  her  well  weighing  what  ever  I 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  53 

said,  I  nevertheless  am  to  this  day  convinced  the 
young  lady  never  dreamed  of  the  havoc  she  was 
playing  with  my  heart,  and  how  great  a  change  was 
in  consequence  gradually  coming  over  my  whole  life. 
Not  that  she  was  diffident,  or  I  the  least  bit  backward, 
but  I  loved  her  so  deeply,  1  was  so  anxious  to  be 
near  her  and  by  her  that  I  was  perfectly  satisfied  to 
let  the  old  lady,  (her  mother),  do  all  the  entertaining, 
if  only  I  could  look  at  the  daughter. 

Thus  fully  two  years  of  my  life  were  spent,  and 
during  all  that  time  no  Sunday  afternoon  but 
found  me  snugly  installed,  (as  I  heard  later),  making 
love  to  the  mother 

Once  the  old  lady  happened  to  have  other  com 
pany,  and  leaving  her  daughter  alone  with  me,  our 
conversation  drifted  into  a  rather  personal  channel, 
and  while  discussing  the  difference  between  a  man's 
and  a  woman's  opportunities,  the  young  lady 
unconsciously  reverting  to  herself  said  : 

"Now  supposing  my  mother  and  father  die,  what 
will  happen  to  me*  They  are  all  I  have  in  the 
world.  I  have  no  brothers  or  sisters,  no  rich 
relations,  and  if  thrown  on  my  own  resources,  what 
would  I  do  ?  " 

I  hardly  think  her  mother  had  left  us  for  over 
fifteen  minutes,  but  be  that  as  it  may,  all  the  love 


5-4  A    NEW    ENGLAND 

that  had  been  pent  up  within  me  broke  forth.  What 
would  she  do  if  left  alone  in  the  world  ? 

Ah  Edith,  I  do  not  remember  my  words,  but  I  do 
remember  telling  you  I  loved  you ;  I  do  remember 
coming  over  to  the  sofa  whereon  you  were  sitting 
and  breaking  forth  into  protestations  of  the 
love  I  felt  for  you.  And  you  ?  You  burst  into  tears, 
and  when  you  had  been  partially  quieted,  and  I 
begged  for  your  answer,  you  told  me  you  were  so 
sorry.  You  liked  me.  You  respected  me,  but  you 
never  could  marry  me.  And  I  ?  Will  I  ever  forget 
that  day  ?  I  left  you;  you  asked  me  to  forget  you; 
that  you  had  never  dreamed  I  had  grown  to  care 
so  much  for  you,  and  begged  me  to  try  and  keep 
up  our  pleasant  acquaintanceship. 

Ah,  that  is  years  ago,  but  will  that  day  ever  be 
effaced  from  my  memory1?  It  was  in  mid- winter. 
The  snow  was  heaped  on  either  side  of  the  streets 
fully  six  feet  high,  and  I  tramped  for  miles  and  miles 
into  the  park,  unmindful  of  the  wind  or  cold,  until 
finally,  nearly  exhausted,  I  regained  partial  control 
of  my  faculties  and  went  home  to  my  room. 

And  there  I  threw  myself,  tired  and  worn  out,  on 
my  couch,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  found  rest 
and  myself  a  stranger  !  And  when  day  dawned,  and 
the  sun  arose  in  his  majesty  and  glory,  no  ray  of  hope 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  55 

did  he  send  into  my  poor  broken  heart.  It  was  then 
I  took  up  pen  and  ink  and  told  you,  Edith,  how 
much  I  loved  you.  I  asked  you  to  have  pity  on  me, 
and  that  if  you  did  not  love  me,  to  care  just  a  little 
bit  for  me.  I  concluded  with  ; 

My  future  is  in  your  hands.  When  I  first  met  you  I 
knew  I  bad  met  my  Josephine,  my  Queen !  If  a  life  of 
devotion  can  beget  love,  you  cannot  help  but  eventually  c;ir«- 
for  me.  If  you  would  but  give  me  the  thousandth  part  of  the 
love  I  give  you  ;  I  would  be  satisfied. 
Write  me,  forgive  me,  and  believe  me, 

Ever  your  friend, 

ROBERT    FENNIMORE. 

and  by  the  next  mail  you  replied  : 

I  feel  honored  by  your  showing  me  so  much  love,  but  I 
do  not  wish  to  marry  any  one,  or  promise  myself  to  any  one 
now.  I  also  wish  you  would  try  and  forget  me,  and  I  will 
do  all  I  can  to  help  you  do  so,  and  perhaps  in  a  year  from 
now,  you  will  think  differently.  In  the  meantime,  won't  you 
come  and  see  me  as  you  used  to  do,  as  doing  so  will  prevent 
talk,  and  although  I  cannot  encourage  you  now,  and  this 
letter  may  sound  cold  ;  I  do  not  mean  it  so,  while  you  can  feel 
assured  it  is  the  hardest  letter  I  hava  ever  penned,  but  as  it  is 
the  sixth  one  I  have  written,  and  each  seems  worne  than  the 
other.  I-  hope-  you  will  excuse  me.  Come  find  see  me ;  let 
us  be  friends,  and  if  you  wait  a  yf<ar,  I  may  feel  differently. 

Your  sincere  friend. 
EDITH. 

What  c-ould  I  do  * 

Although  nigh  heart 'broken,  I  endeavored  to  keep 
up  appearances,,  and  as  my  life  seemed  to  depend  on 


56  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

seeing  and  being  near  her,  I  continued  my  calls  for 
several  months  thereafter. 

One  day  she  was  at  the  piano  accompanying  me  to 
the  "Lost  Chord."  At  the  end  of  the  son<*  she 
suddenly  asked  me  to  kiss  her. 

Ah  Edith,  that  kiss  !  You  asked  it,  not  I.  Your 
soul  seemed  to  meet  mine  !  You  told  me  you  cared 
for  me,  and  in  time  would  marry  me.  I  was  delirious 
with  joy!  Happier  than  I  had  ever  been!  I 
thought  you  loved  me. 

Thus  months  passed,  until  one  day,  when 
promenading  in  Central  Park  with  y^u,  we  reached 
a  secluded  spot  and  you  requested  me  to  sit  down 
and  listen  to  what  you  had  to  say. 

You  commenced  with : 

"Mr.  F ,  I  have  a  great  deal  of  respect  and 

liking  for  you,  and  there  is  no  man  whom  I  would 
sooner  trust  with  my  future  than  you,  but  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  I  never  can  marry.  You  then  went 
on  to  tell  me  you  were,  or  rather  had  been  before  you 
accepted  me,  clandestinely  engaged  to  another  man, 
whom  you  thought  you  cared  a  great  deal  for,  but 
whose  acquaintance  you  had  dropped  as  you  had 
found  out  he  was  not  as  honorable  a  man  as  you  had 
thought  him;  that  your  mother  disliked  him  exceed 
ingly  anyhow ;  that  you  never  would  marry  a  man 


A  NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  57 

your  mother  did  not  approve  of ;  that  this  man  was 
a  Catholic,  and  your  mother  hated  Catholics,  and 
that  even  if  you  had  not  learned  what  you  did,  the 
former  reason  would  have  been  weighty  enough 
for  you  to  rescind  your  promise  to  him,  but  since 
then,  and  after  your  engaging  yourself  to  me  you 
found  you  did  not  love  me  as  I  should  be  loved,  so 
you  thought  you  had  better  be  honest— tell  me  so  at 
once— and  break  our  engagement." 

I  was  struck  dumb.  In  sheer  misery,  I  remember 
sitting  by  your  side  as  if  dazed.  How  long  we  sat 
thus,  I  know  not,  but  I  finally  roused  myself,  or  was 
aroused  by  some  remark  which  you  made,  which 
induced  me  to  ask  as  to  whether;  had  you  not  heard 
these  stories  about  this  other  man,  and  as  to  whether 
if  your  mother's  dislike  was  overcome,  you  did  not 
think  you  might  love  him. 

And   you   replied  :    Yes,  you  might ! 

I  forget  how  long  I  sat  musing,  and -figuratively 
crushing  my  heart  within  me,  and  bringing  every 
noble  impulse  that  I  was  capable  of,  to  the  fore,  but 
I  do  remember  I  forgot  self,  I  forgot  my  own  desires, 
my  own  feelings,  and  I  begged  you,  if  you  really 
cared  for  the  man,  not  to  make  your  life,  his  life,  as 
miserable  as  mine  was;  but  to  marry  him,  no  matter 
what  the  consequence.  As  to  the  stories  you  had 


58  A    NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

heard,  I  told  you  no  man  was  true ;  all  men  were 
fast,  I  probably  a  great  deal  more  so  than  he.  / 
belittled  myself 7  I exalted  him  !  My  love  for  you 
was  such,  that  to  see  you  happy  seemed  to  be  my 
only  desire. 

It  was  several  hours  before  we  reached  home. 
When  darkness  came  on  we  walked  the  streets  for 
miles,  I  doing  nothing  but  beseeching  you  to  do 
justice  to  yourself  and  to  him,  whom  I  suspected  you 
really  loved- 

At  your  door  step  I  left  you.  You  begged  me  to  come 
in.  I  refused.  It  was  only  when  you  held  out  your 
hand  at  parting  that  I  knew  what  a  strain  I  had 
undergone. 

How  I  reached  my  hotel,  I  know  not.  A  friend 
tripped  me  up  as  I  was  about  entering  my  room.  He 
saw  there  was  something  wrong.  After  a  good  deal 
of  questioning  he  elicited  some  of  the  facts. 

He  laughed  them  to  scorn. 

"Care  for  a  girl  like  that,"  he  said.  "  Why,  Kob, 
you  are  crazy !  Where  is  your  manhood,  your,  .self 
respect?  A  girl  who  will  engage  herself  without. her 
mother's  or  father's  consent  to  a  man  they  dislike,, 
who  will  then  play  with  you,  and  .finally,  not  know, 
her  own  mind.  Why,  you  need  a  guardian.! "  .  ...  . 

Poor  consolation  to  me,  and  yet,  strange  irony  of 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  6 

fate!  It  was  this  very  man  tftat  finally ,  after  we  were 
married  for  over  ten  years,  parted  you  and  me,  Edith. 

But  once  again  I  digress,  and  run  ahead  of  my 
story. 

Sleep  and  I,  again  were  strangers,  and  it  was  with 
a  heavy  heart  that  I  the  next  morning  plunged  into 
my  cold  bath,  which  that  day  chilled  me  to  the  very 
bones,  and  after  a  futile  attempt  at  breakfast,  I 
wended  my  way  to  my  office.  Arriving  there  the 
first  letter  I  opened  was  one  in  your  well  known 
hand,  as  follows  : 

Dear  friend,  (if  I  may  call  you  such): 

For  the  last  time  I  am  going  to  say  a  few  words  on  the 
subject  that  has  caused  you  so  much  misery.  Knowing  how 
you  feel,  I  suppose  it  is  best  for  you  not  to  come  and  see 
me  any  more,  but  as  you  have  come  quite  often  during  the 
last  year  or  two,  don't  you  think  you  had  better  discontinue 
your  visit*  gradually  ?  You  need  not  see  much  of  me  unless 
you  wish  to,  although  I  shall  always  be  glad  to  see  you.  In 
your  misery,  remember  you  are  not  the  only  miserable  one,  as 
your  unhappiness  makes  me  doubly  unhappy,  but  as  time 
heals  all  wounds,  my  continual  prayer  will  be,  that  it  give  yo* 
the  strength  to  forget,  and  if  possible  forgive. 

Your  always  grateful. 

EDITH. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


I  spoke  in  the  preceding  chapter  of  my  refusal, 
after  our  long  protracted  walk,  to  enter  Edith's  home, 
and  as  my  visits  had  at  this  period  become  very 
frequent,  it  was  not  many  days  before  I  was 
surprised  with  a  call  from  her  mother. 

Kindly  old  lady,  she  came  up  to  me  in  her  good 
motherly  way,  and  asked  me  what  was  wrong.  I 
tried  to  parry  her  questions.  I  even  prevaricated. 
Finally  she  broke  down.  It  was  in  my  private  office. 

"Mr.  F ,"  she  said,  "you  are  a  man.  I  have 

suspected  you  cared  for  my  daughter  for  some  time. 
I  have  always  liked  you,  and  I  think  so  does  she. 
She  is  a  child.  She  is  easily  influenced.  Not  that 
she  would  ever  wilfully  deceive  her  mother,  but 
there  is  a  certain  man  who  is  crazy  after  her.  I 
know  he  sees  her  occasionaly,  and  rather  than  have 
her  marry  him,  I  would  prefer  to  see  her  dead  in  her 
coffin,  as  I  know  he  is  bad." 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  l 

In  this  strain  she  went  on.  What  wonder  confi 
dence  begot  confidence? 

I  told  the  mother  I  loved  the  daughter;  but  with 
the  mother  I  did  as  with  the  daughter,  I  forgot  self. 
I  begged  the  old  lady  not  to  judge  hastily.  I  told 
her  many  a  bad  young  man  had  made  a  good 
husband;  I  begged  the  mother  not  to  sacrifice  the 
daughter,  but  that  as  I  thought  my  rival  was  pre 
ferred,  nothing  would  make  me  happier  than  to  see 
her  married  to  him,  if  by  so  doing  her  happiness 
would  be  assured. 

Talk  about  hatred,  why  the  old  lady  was  almost 
beside  herself  at  the  mere  thought  of  her  child  being 
married  to  the  man  in  question,  and  involuntarily  I 
thanked  my  stars  I  had  not  betrayed  my  dear  ones 
confidence  by  speaking  of  her  cancelled  clandestine 
engagement. 

The  old  lady  wound  up  by  requesting  me  to  call, 
and  on  my  positively  refusing  to  do  so,  told  me  that 
on  the  very  night  on  which,  unbeknown  to  her,  I  was 
unable  to  find  rest,  she  herself  had  walked  the  floor 
of  her  room  all  night,  and  finally  when  lying  down 
for  a  few  minutes  eeeme'l  to  feel  conscious  of  my 
suddenly  appearing  before  her  and  beseeching  her 
to  do  something,  which  at  that  time  she  could  not 
understand,  but  which  concerned  her  daughter  and 
me. 


62  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

In  a  few  days  I  received  the  following  letter : 

My  good  friend  Mr.  F : 

I  cannot  be  content  without  saying  a  few  words  more  to 
you  on  the  subject  we  were  speaking  of  when  I  saw  you  last. 
My  ideas  of  the  way  to  live  in  this  world,  are  I  hope  held  by 
many  others.  I  think  each  and  all  of  us  should  try  to  make 
others  happy  as  far  as  we  may  have  an  opportunity  in  our 
associating  with,  or  our  friendship  for  them.  I  do  not  know 
what  I  can  say  to  comfort  you.  I  know  of  no  one  for  whom  I 
have  a  greater  respect,  or  a  more  sincere  liking.  You  have 
commenced  life  with  good  morals,  good  principles,  and  a 
higher  ambition  than  young  men  generally  start  with. 
Let  nothing  that  has  passed  keep  you  from  the  bright  path 
mapped  out  for  yourself  in  your  happier  days.  Life  is  short 
at  best,  but  I  think  there  is  great  happiness  in  store  for  you. 
At  present  you  are  not  alone  in  your  sorrow,  if  it  is  any 
consolation  to  you  to  know  it.  Thursday  night  your  picture 
was  taken  out  of  the  album  and  placed  on  the  parlor  mantel,  I 
did  not  seem  to  notice  it,  but  it  looked  as  though  she  wanted 
to  have  your  face  where  she  could  see  it  as  often  as  she 
liked.  You  say  you  know  her  better  than  I  do,  and  you  may 
not  attach  any  importance  to  what  was  done,  but  I  think  I 
understand  her  pretty  well.  She  is  up  at  half  past  seven 
every  morning  now,  something  very  unusual  for  her,  but  it  is 
because  she  hopes,  or  expects  she  may  get  some  word  from 
you,  and  does  not  wish  me  to  know  it.  She  does  not  know  I 
saw  you,  or  have  seen  you  since  you  were  here.  I  hope  you 
will  not  feel  very  much  annoyed  by  this  lengthy  letter,  but  if 
you  knew  how  sorry  I  am  for  you,  you  could  not  be  angry. 
May  be  by  this  time  you  have  arrived  at  a  happier  frame  of 
mind,  but  be  that  as  it  may,  (and  I  sincerely  hope  it  may  be 
so),  t  think  your  present  course  of  silence,  and  absence 
your  best  possible  treatment  of  her.  Yet  she  is  never  demon 
strative,  and  a  few  words  from  her  mean  a  good  deal.  You  say 
you  think,  she  thinks  a  great  deal  of  me.  I  know  that,  yet  it  is 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  63 

a  quiet  affection,  if  I  may  use  the  word  thus.  Never  a  kiss, 
nor  an  offer  of  one  ;  always  kind,  but  never  displaying  any 
affection,  unless  I  am  quite  sick.  Then  she  is  all  anxiety.  I 
am  going  to  bring  you  in  a  few  flowers  this  afternoon  ;  take 
them  as  they  are  meant — in  kindness.  Edith  will  never  know 
of  it  from  me,  nor  that  I  see  you.  Take  good  care  of  your 
health  and  try  to  be  happy.  "  Into  each  life  some  rain  must 
fall ;  some  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary."  Write  me  if  there 
is  anything  you  wish  to  know.  Good-bye,  until  I  see  you. 

Sincerely, 

A.  C.  B. 

In  the  meantime,  my  misery  was  telling  on  me.  I 
became  absent-minded,  abstracted,  gloomy  and 
morose,  and  finally  nearly  all  my  friends  were 
wondering  as  to  what  was  the  matter  with  me.  Some 
thought  I  was  going  into  premature  decline,  and  one 
or  two  (particularly  women)  opined  I  was  in  love. 

As  fate  would  have  it,  I  was  just  then  taken  sick 
with  the  measles.  My  friends  heard  of  it.  Mrs. 

B took  the  opportunity  of  writing  me  a  number 

of  letters,  of  which  the  following  is  a  fair  specimen  : 

MY  DEAR  Mr.  F., 

You  asked  me  not  to  mention  your  name  any  oftener 
than  necessary.  I  have  not  done  so,  yet  your  name  has  been 
mentioned  very  often  by  some  one  else,  sometimes  it  is  Robert, 

sometimes  Mr.  F .  but  always  as  if  you  were  a  very  dear 

friend  in  whom  she  had  a  very  grent  interest.  Why  I  wrote 
you  as  I  did,  (which  may  have  been  wrong)  about  your  getting 
a  recall,  was  this  :  She  was  talking  with  me  just  at  dusk, 
before  we  lighted  up.  She  was  drumming  on  the  piano,  while 
at  the  same  time  I  was  gossiping  and  talking  with  her.  Sud- 


64  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

denly  she  said  :    ' '  Mamma !  would  you  be  willing  to  have  me 

marry  Mr.  F ?  "   I  told  her  what  my  ideas  were,  viz  :  that  I 

certainly  would  not  object, provided  she  liked  you  well  enough 
or  in  other  words,  if  she  had  the  same  regard  for  you  that  you 
had  for  her.  That  certainly,  if  you  are  what  you  always  seemed 
to  be,  her  love  for  you  would  not  diminish  by  a  more  intimate 
knowledge  of  you.  I  told  her  I  did  not  wish  nor  mean  to 
influence  her  in  any  way.  As  far  as  wishing  to  have  her  marry, 
I  should  never  be  willing,  except  that  I  saw  it  was  for  her 
happiness,  as  well  as  the  one  she  married.  She  did  not  make 
any  reply  to  me,  but  kept  on  playing  for  a  while,  yet  she 
seemed  to  change  and  feel  happier  thereafter.  That  is  why  I 
thought  as  I  did.  She  can  be  quite  a  jolly  companion  when 
she  has  nothing  serious  to  worry  about,  and  now,  if  you  are 
ever  friends  again,  try  to  lose  the  idea  that  she  has  such  a  sad 
look  and  smile,  as  though  she  had  secret  grief.  It  is  not  so, 
except  she  may  be  grieving  a  little  over  you,  while  I  think  she 
is  now  getting  to  be  a  little  ashamed  of  her  expressed  admira 
tion  for  the  individual  you  know  of. 

Sincerely  yours, 

A.C.B. 

And  as  on  my  first  being  stricken,  I  was  taken 
home  to  my  mothers,  I  was  there  almost  over 
whelmed  with  letters,  flowers,  jellies  and  what-nots 
by  friends  who  had  marriageable  daughters. 

One  young  lady  whom  I  had  met  at  a  wedding 
where  I  had  been  best  man  to  an  old  chum  of  mine, 
sent  me  an  elegant  basket  of  jack  roses,  but  dearest 
of  all  \the  remembrances,  were  a  few  loose  flowers 
that  came  anonymously,  but  which  my  heart  told  me 
were  sent  by  the  one  I  loved. 


A     NMs      1  -N.tl.AM>     WOMAN.  <!•> 

On  my  recovery  her  mother  wrote  me  us  follows  : 

MY  DEAR  MR.  F., 

How  is  it  with  you  this  stormy  day  ?  It  is  enough  to 
give  one  the  blues,  I  think,  but  I  believe  von  are  partial  to 
such  weather.  I  hope  you  art- comfortable  and  happy.  I  know 
Edith  wrote  you  in  regard  to  the  picture,  but  what  else  I  know 
not,  but  suppose  she  must  have  written  a  word  or  two  besides. 
She  was  very  much  surprised  by  the  picture,  and  very  much 
pleased  too.  Since  then  I  know  she  received  a  letter  from  you. 
The  contents  I  am  ignorant  of,  except  one  thing  which  sin- 
told  me  yesterday — that  you  would  like  her  to  be  married  in 
one  mouth.  — I  asked  her  then  if  she  cared  enough  about  you 
to  marry  you.  "  Oh  !  yes,"  she  replied,  "  but  not  so  soon  as 
that.  How  could  I  ever  get  ready  so  soon?"  and,  I  echo, 
•'  How  could  she?"  She  talked  as  though  she  cared  more  for 
you  than  anyone  else,  but  that  she  was  differently  constituted 
from  you,  so  that  she  did  not  think  she  could  ever  think  quite 
as  much  of  anyone  as  you  did  of  her.  I  may  be  wrong,  but  I 
know  her  nature  so  well  that  I  think  as  she  does  about  it,  jet 
the  true  love  of  a  nature  like  hers  is  something  to  be  prized, 
something  her  husband  may  rely  upon  in  trouble  or  prosperity. 
I  told  her  yesterday,  I  did  not  think  she  was  worthy  of  yon. 
She  wanted  to  know  why.  I  told  her  because  she  did  not  half 
appreciate  you.  Whatever  she  has  written  you,  do  not  think 
I  have  used  my  influence  in  your  behalf,  but  when  she  asks 
me  a  question,  I  answer  it  according  to  my  idea  of  the  facts. 
She  went  upstairs  saying  she  should  write  you.  I  told  her  she 
must  not  do  so  except  she  could  satisfy  you  that  she  really 
loved  you.  I  told  her  I  thought  you  would  grant  her  a  litt'o 
time  to  prepare  for  the  event.  If  yon  care  so  much  for  the 
daughter,  spare  her  to  the  mother  as  long  as  possible.  "You 
may  come  every  day  to  the  house,  but  do  not  hurry  about 
taking  away  my  one  bright  star.  When  you  take  her  away 
her  love  for  her  mother  will  in  time  merge  into  a  love  for  her 
other  self,  yet  she  has  been  BO  much  of  a  companion  to  me  in 


A    NEW    ENGLAND 

the  few  years  past  that  I  cannot  but  think  I  shall  miss  her 
terribly.  That  I  am  unwilling  to  give  her  up  to  anyone  you 
are  well  aware.  I  may  have  erred  in  my  home  education  of  her, 
yet  have  I  always  tried  to  keep  her  from  all  evil,  and  hare 
endeavored  to  instil  a  love  of  truth  in  her.  Her  disposition  is 
peculiar,  yet  when  you  once  know  it,  there  will  be  no  danger 
of  any  serious  trouble  between  you,  as  from  what  I  know  of 
you,  even  in  anger  you  are  generous,  while  forgiving  by 
nature.  Did  I  not  know  you  so  well  I  should  not  feel  as  I  do 
on  the  subject.  I  may  be  premature  in  writing  this,  yet  there 
is  nothing  wrong  about  it,  and  I  can  writ*3  about  it  better  thar 
I  can  talk.  If  it  should  be  settled  as  you  wish,  I  could  not 
talk  to  you  five  words  about  it  in  the  manner  I  have  just 
written.  I  do  not  think  you  need  fear  anyone  as  holding  any 
corner  of  her  heart,  however  small.  She  did  not  tell  me  what 
she  wrote  yesterday,  so  'tis  only  guess  work  with  me,  yet  I  am 
satisfied  she  hoped  you  would  come  last  night,  although  her 
letter  was  posted  so  late,  and  was  very  much  disappointed  that 
you  did  not. 

Good  night,  yours  as  ever, 

A.  C.  B. 

And  the  same  day  I  received  a  letter  from  the 
young  lady,  saying: 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND. 

I  am  so  glad  to  know  you  are  well  again,  as  I  worried  about 
you  all  the  time  you  were  sick,  and  now  I  do  not  want  you  to 
impatiently  tear  this  op,  as  I  know  you  will  feel  like  doing, 
but  remember  a  ''patient  waiter  is  no  loser."  In  about  a  week 
I  am  going  to  write  you  a  long  letter,  so  please  do  not  go  out 
of  town  (which  I  hear  you  intend  doing)  until  you  hear  from 
me  again.  The  painting  "Forever"  came  yesterday,  and  I 
thank  you  more  than  I  can  tell  you  for  it. 

Sincerely  your  friend, 

EDITH. 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 


67 


It  was  then  that  I  looked  the  future  in  the  face. 
I  loved,  and  I  loved  deeply.  My  love  was  pure  and 
unselfish,  but  my  manhood  required,  if  little  love 
much  submission. 

I  carefully  wrote,  and  re-wrote  the  following  letter, 
the  draft  of  which  I  preserved  to  this  day  : 

MY  DEAR  FKIEND  EDITH  B., 

The  painting  was  sent  YOU  as  a  birthday  present,  which 
I  promised  when  I  abstracted  the  sketch  from  you.  I  imagined 
you  would  be  glad  to  receive  it,  aud  I  knew  I  would  hear  from 
you.  That  you  should  intend  writing  me  again,  is  in  some 
respects  a,  surprise,  and  yet  the  flowers  you  sent  me  -  what  I 
have  heard  of  you,  and  what  I  know  of  one  who  kuows  I  wor 
ship  her — more  than  convinces  me  she  is  debating  something 
whereon  more  depends,  than  she  is  aware  of.  You  are  not  to 
blame  for  luy  loving  you.  and  yet  you  pity  me  !  Pity  is  akin 
to  love,  but  not  I'W.  I  know,  when  I  hear  from  you,  you  will 
either  make  me  more  miserable,  or  as  happy  as  when  in  pity, 
— if  after  a  year's  probation  I  did  not  change-  you  once  before 
consented  to  become  my  wife.  My  iniiid  is  made  up.  Of  my 
love  for  you,  you  are  convinced!  I  would  rather  see  you 
happy,  than  be  happy  myself.  Your  mother's  dislike  for  some 
body  else,  possibly  made  you  think  you  liked  him,  as  it  is 
but  natural  for  us  to  stand  up  for  those  whom  others  abuse. 
Hut  are  you  sure  you  Ittc,  nay  !  lore  me  best  ?  How  often  v  ave 
I  sung  Preyer's  exquisite  "  Will  She  Come?"  But  not  until 
after  my  misery  did  I  grasp  the  pathos,  the  beauty  of  it.  But 
to  come  to  what  I  intended.  Edith ,  darling  !  dearly  as  I  love 
you.  deeply  as  I  long  for  the  touch  of  your  hand,  rather  than 
imagine  pity  induced  you  to  send  for  me,  I  would  prefer  to 
endure  every  agony,  than  ever  to  see  you  again.  Ten  thousand 
times  rather,  would  I  suffer /or  ever  and  mr  than  become  hus- 
band  to  a  girl  who,  if  she  did  not  love  me  as  deeply  us  I  love 


68  A    NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

her;  {and  I  think  no  woman  can  ever  love  like  a  man)  does  not 
at  any  rate  know  she  cares  more  for  me  than  for  any  one  else . 
Bring  the  truth  home,  and  imagine  that  on  the  day  on  which 
you  beg  me  to  come  and  see  you,  you  had  to  become  my  wife. 
My  mind  is  made  up  !  Never  and  ten  times  never  will  you  ever 
see  me  unless  in  your  heart  of  hearts  you  can  say  to  yourself 
as  well  as  tome,  "  I  care  more  for  you,  Kobert,  than  for  any 
one  else  in  the  world,"  and  if  that  time  should  ever  come,  ah  I 
if  I  then,  dear,  I  would  come,  but  would  insist  on  marrying  you 
within  a  month  from  that  very  day.  And  now.  dear,  good-bye  j 
and,  in  the  words  of  "  What  matters  it  to  hearts  like  ours.'* 
But  it  does  matter,  and  matter  a  great  deal,  and  life  seems 
bleaker  and  hope  seems  dead  even  though  eternity  may  change 
all. 

Sincerely  yours, 

ROBERT    FENNIMORE. 

A  few  days  thereafter  I  received  her  reply,  which 
said ; 

MY  DEAR  ROBERT, 

The  promised  letter  will  be  all  contained  in  the  simple 
little  word,  COME,  and  may  it  ruake  you  as  happy  to  read  it  as 
it  has  made  me  in  sending  it. 

Your, 

EDITH. 


CHAPTER   X. 


How  the  hours  seemed  to  drag  before  our 
meeting  !  How  can  I  describe  what  at  our  meeting 
took  place?  Up  to  that  time  when  calling,  I  had 
usually  seen  the  mother  first.  On  this  occasion  I 
was  ushered  into  the  back  parlor,  where,  reclining 
on  a  lounge  in  front  of  a  blazing  hearth-fire, 
evidently  awaiting  and  expecting  her  husband,  was 
my  wife  that  was  to  be.  I  can  close  my  eyes  and 
conjure  up  that  picture  !  Neither  of  us  said  a  word. 
Our  arms  opened,  our  lips  met,  heart  beat  against 
heart,  and  for  several  minutes  not  a  sound  came 
from  either.  Two  hearts  had  met;  two  eyes 
looked  into  two  other  eyes,  and  in  silence  did  we 

» 

commune. 

I  wonder  how  many  of  my  readers  have  been  in 
a  similar  situation ! 

In  latin  countries  at  the  hour  of  the  angelus 
when  the  worker  in  the  fields,  or  the  laborer  in  the 
town,  hears  the  bell  which  calls  to  Vespers; 
involuntarily  his  cap  is  lifted,  unconsciously  his 
head  is  bowed,  and  in  silent  prayer  the  soul  speaks  to 


70  A   NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

its  Maker.  And  again  when  man  awaits  the  angel  of 
death,  we  sit  in  silence,  hand  clasped  to  hand,  our 
souls  too  full  for  utterance.  And  thus  when  a  true 
man,  a  true  woman  for  the  first  time  know  their  love, 
they  involuntarily  recognize  the  sanctity  of  the  very 
holiest  of  holy  feelings,  and  the  soul  speaks,  though 
the  tongue  be  mute. 

I  loved  and  I  thought  I  was  beloved.  Our 
wedding  day  was  fixed,  and  the  world  held  no  man 
happier  than  I. 

And  incidentally  let  me  add:  The  man  who 
was  my  rival  and  primarily  had  the  advantage, 
hearing  of  my  visits,  knowing  the  mother  liked  me, 
and  disliked  him,  did  everything  in  his  power  to 
be-little,  be-smirch  and  deride  me.  All  this  was  at 
the  time  unbeknown  to  me.  In  after  years  I  found, 
the  stand  I  had  taken  placed  me  in  the  light  of  a 
nobler,  a  better  man,  and  whereas  this  stand  was 
prompted  by  love,  pure  and  simple,  and  I  db  not 
care  to  take  any  credit  to  myself,  nevertheless  the 
hand  of  the  woman  I  loved  became  mine  in  very 
consequence  of  my  being  willing  to  sacrifice  all,  self 
and  everything  for  her  happiness.  He  seemed  to  be 
imbued  with  selfish  motives  only.  My  wife  weighed 
him  in  the  balance.  She  found  him  wanting  ! 
weighed  me,  and  she  thought  she  loved  me 


CHAPTER   XI. 


We  were  mairied  in  church,  May  25th.  18 ,  and 

immediately  after  our  wedding  took  the  '  Fall  River 
Line  '  of  boats  for  Boston,  where  we  intended  spend 
ing  part  of  our  honeymoon. 

Our  friends  gave  us  a  send-off.  The  boat  was 
crowded.  We  were  literally  overwhelmed  with 
flowers;  and,  when  my  six  ushers  at  the  last  moment 
carried  on  board  an  immense  cradle  of  red  roses, 
which,  to  handle,  required  their  united  strength, 
I  remember  hearing  one  old  lady  express  the  wish 
that  our  life  thereafter  would  be  literally  "  a  bed  ot 
roses." 

Arrived  in  Boston,  we  spent  a  week  there ;  then 
a  few  days  with  some  of  her  relatives  in  Worcester  ; 
and,  after  an  absence  of  about  a  fortnight,  we 
returned  to  New  York,  where  I  had  previously 
engaged  apartments  at  the  then,  just  finished  Park 
Avenue  Hotel,  at  which  place  we  held  our  reception, 
to  which  most  of  our  friends  had  been  invited.  How 
proud  I  was  of  her  !  How  beautiful  she  seemed  to 
me,  dressed  in  white  lace,  devoid  of  all  color;  and 


72  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

excepting  a  little  solitaire  I  had  given  her,  she 
posessed  no  jewelry  or  jewels.  And  yet  how  all  life, 
how  everything  seemed  to  concentrate  around  and  in 
her! 

The  next  morning  I  awoke  early.  She  was  still 
asleep.  Softly  I  stole  to  an  easy  chair,  and  gazed 
from  our  apartments  over  the  roofs  of  the  surround 
ing  houses  to  where,  in  the  dim  distance,  I  could  see 
the  tall  walls  of  the  building  wherein  my  business, 
my  ware-rooms  were.  And  while  sitting  there 
musing,  involuntarily  communing  with  myself,  I  was 
almost  startled  at  a  voice  which  seemed  to  whisper 
to  me,  saying  :  "  Well,  Bob  !  now  you  are  tied  !  Here 
you  have  the  girl  whom  you  love.  Is  the  reality 
equal  to  the  anticipation  ?  Do  you  think  you  love  her 
as  much  now  as  when,  in  your  misery,  you  were 
wooing  her  ?  Does  she  come  up  to  your  ideas  ?  Is 
she  as  perfect  as  you  thought  her  ?  Do  you  know 
that  you  are  now  no  longer  absolute  master  of  your 
self,  but  that  this  girl  has  some  rights — a  voice  in 
the  management  of  all  you  do,  and  all  your  affairs  ? 
Do  you  think  you  will  like  it  ?  " 

Just  then  (it  had  grown  to  be  about  eight  o'clock, 
and  I  had  been  meditating  longer  than  I  knew  of) 
a  knock  came  to  my  door.  A  voice  said  : 

"  A  letter,  Sir." 


A    NEW    KNOLAXI)    WOMAN.  Tit 

i  opened — I  read! 

It  was  from  a  dear  old  friend— a  lady  who,  in  the 
past,  had  been  of  great  help  and  service  to  me  in 
making  me  love  the  good,  the  true,  the  beautiful. 

Her  letter  congratulated  me  on  my  choice  ;  stated 
she  had  been  at  our  wedding,  had  seen  the  bride, 
had  fallen  desperately  in  love  with  her;  but,  as  she 
was  unfortunately  called  out  of  town  before  our 
reception,  had  to  postpone  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
my  wife,  till  she  returned  to  the  city.  She  then  went 
on  to  give  me  kind  and  good  advice ;  and,  in  con 
cluding,  said  : 

'•  Now,  Robbie,  I  know  you  so  well  that  I  hope  you  will 
take  the  following  in  good  part,  and  understand  me  aright. 
Successful  as  you  have  been  in  late  years,  I  have  noticed  that 
— like  all  fortune's  favorites — you  have  become  somewhat 
spoiled  ;  and,  if  I  have  a  fear  as  to  your  future  happiness,  it  is 
the  thought  that  after  you  own  what  you  have  so  craved  for, 
that  lifter  the  norelty  treat's  off,  posession  may  cloy  with  you. 
Now,  dear  friend,  I  know  you  well  enough  to  know  you  mean 
right.  I  know  your  impulses  are  good,  and  your  heart  golden. 
Keep  up  the  old  fare -feeling  f  When,  in  years  to  come,  you  feel 
tired,  wearied  and  worried,  and  perhaps  find  other  than  the 
comforter,  the  help-meet  you  expected — Keep  tip  the  old  lope- 
feeling  f 

Strange  words !  Strange  time  to  reach  me !  I 
read  her  letter,  and  re-read  it !  I  went  into  the  next 
room  !  I  looked  at  my  wife  !  She  was  still  sleeping. 
I  hardly  know  why,  but  at  that  moment  the  boy's 


74  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

love,  the  lover's  love,  seemed  to  leave  me.  Instead 
there  came  into  my  heart  the  husband's  love,  the 
protecting  love  that  "  for  weal  or  woe,"  for  better  or 
for  worse  forever  and  forever,  when  once  given  by  a 
man,  remains  with  the  woman  till  death  them  do  part. 

Until  death  them  do  part,  unless  the  woman 
trample  on  that  love,  unless  she  discard  and  stifle 
it,  and  shows  the  man  she  is  happier  without,  than 
with  it. 

How  many  men,  how  many  women  marry, 
thinking  they  love  and  are  beloved?  And  after  the 
ceremony  is  over,  their  honeymoon  passed,  how  few 
find  the  reality  what  they  anticipated.  And  then 
what  becomes  of  love  ? 

Emerson  says  ; 

"Is  not  marriage  an  open  question,  when  it  is 
alleged  from  the  beginning  of  the  world,  that  such 
as  are  in  it  wish  to  get  out,  and  such  as  are  out  wish 
to  get  in  ? " 

The  Bible  says : 

"And  the  Lord  God  said:  It  is  not  good  for  man  to 
be  alone,  let  us  make  him  a  help  like  unto  himself. 
Then  the  Lord  God  cast  a  deep  sleep  upon  Adam, 
and  when  he  was  fast  asleep,  he  took  one  of  his  ribs 
and  filled  up  flesh  for  it,  and  the  Lord  built  the  rib 
which  he  took  from  Adam  into  a  woman,  and  brought 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  75 

her  unto  Adam,  and  Ail  am  said  :  This  now  is  bone 
of  my  bone,  and  flesh  of  my  flesh,  she  shall  be  called 
woman,  because  she  was  taken  out  of  man,  wherefore 
a  man  shall  leave  father  and  mother  and  cleave  to 
his  wife,  and  they  shall  be  two  in  one  flesh." 


CHAPTER    XII. 


After  a  short  stay  at  our  hotel,  and  some 
subsequent  visits  to  Newport,  Narragansett, 
Saratoga  Springs,  and  other  summer  resorts,  we 
settled  down  at  the  home  of  her  parents,  for  the  first 
year  of  our  married  life. 

Within  a  few  months,  my  wife  found  herself  in  an 
interesting  condition.  One  night  she  felt  very 
badly.  I  asked  her  if  her  mother  could  not  help  her. 

"  My  mother  knows  nothing  of  my  condition  !  " 

"  Why,  child  !     Did  you  not  speak  to  her  ?  " 

"No,  I  did  not  like  to." 

It  devolved  upon  me  to  enlighten  the  mother. 
Until  that  moment,  few  men  had  greater  reason  to 
feel  friendly  with,  and  measurably  sure  of  the 
regard  entertained  for  them  by  their  mother-in-law. 

From  that  moment  I  think  the  old  lady  regretted 
ever  having  consented  to  our  marriage.  She  almost 
fainted  away.  She  positively  commenc ^  to  cry,  and 
on  my,  in  perfect  amazement,  asking  her  why  she 
should  do  so,  the  poor  old  lady  told  me  she  never 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  77 

expected  anything  like  that  so  soon.  I  ought  to  have 
known  better,  etc.,  etc." 

From  that  day  I  knew  a  great  many  of  my 
subsequent  troubles  indirectly  came  from  my  mother- 
in-law.  Not  that  she  and  I  ever  had  any  differences, 
or  that  she  was  other  than  the  most  inoffensive, 
unobtrusive,  least  selfish  woman  it  was  ever  my  lot 
to  meet,  but  born  and  bred  in  the  state  of  Maine, 
in  later  life  living  for  years  in  that  hot-bed  of 
advanced  ideas — Boston,  she  was  a  typical  New 
England  woman,  and  whereas  she  was  neither  a  blue 
stocking,  nor  a  believer  in  "Woman's  Rights,  (other 
than  in  their  sensible  adaptability,  and  every 
day  application),  she  nevertheless  positively  thought 
the  command  "  to  increase  and  multiply'1''  did  not 
apply  to  American  women  anyhow,  and  having  for 
years  preached  these  ideas  to  her  daughter,  for  ever 
and  ever  thereafter  kept  dinning  them  into  my 
wife's  mind,  until  she  finally  became  firm  in  her 
conviction  that  the  less  children  women  had,  the 
better  it  would  be  for  them,  and  the  world  in 
general. 

Our  first  child  was  born  within  less  than  a  year 
after  our  marriage. 

At  my  request  a  physican  whom  I  had  known  for 
years  called  on  us  about  a  month  prior  to  the  event. 


78  A    NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

My  wife  positively  refused  to  see  him!  He  has 
since  told  me  when  he  was  telegraphed  for  on  the  day 
of  her  accouchement,  on  entering  the  room,  and  his 
introducing  himself,  she  exclaimed:  "I  hate 
doctors"  And  that  excepting  those  few  words  she 
said  absolutely  nothing,  until  after  the  child  was 
born.  She  had  hardly  been  put  to  rights  when  she 
insisted  on  having  pencil  and  paper  and  personally 
wrote  me ;  "You  have  a  son." 

A  few  weeks  thereafter  business  called  me  away 
on  an  extended  trip.  Jocularly  talking  with  my  wife 
on  having  so  long  been  deprived  of  her  and  her 
society,  she  told  me,  (well  do  I  remember  her  words): 

"Do  not  mind,  dear!  As  long  as  you  love  me 
best,  it  will  not  make  any  difference  to  me  if  you 
occasionally  do  see  other  women." 

The  words  stung  me  to  the  quick  !  They  proved* 
Twas  not  loved. 

I  went  away.  I  was  absent  a  month.  While  away 
I  did  as  I  chose. 

On  my  return  I  found  my  wife  happy  and  glad  to 
see  me,  but  as  she  did  not  seem  to  be  over  strong, 
Edith's  mother  suggested  she  go  away  with  her  and 
the  baby  to  some  friends  in  the  country  to 
re-cuperate.  To  re  cuperate,  but  to  leave  her 
husband  wifeless. 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  7*> 

All,  inother-in-law,  how  little  you  remembered 
"  that  whom  God  hath  joined  together,  let  no  man 
(woman)  put  asunder." 

I  firmly  believe  half  our  marital  infelicities  are 
attributable  to  kindly  intended,  wrongly  projected 
separations,  that  well  meaning  friends,  relations, 
or  business  engagements  force  upon  us.  The 
latter  possibly  cannot  be  avoided.  But  I  firmly 
believe  if  a  man  marry  a  woman,  and  neither  one 
ever  part  from  the  other,  our  divorce  courts  would 
be  less  crowded;  our  newspapers  would  have  less 
scandal,  and  the  community  in  consequence  would 
be  the  gainer. 

My  wife  left  me,  and  it  was  not  long  before  I  fell 
into  old  ways,  and  met  old  acquaintances.  Up 
to  that  time  I  had  always  thought,  next  to  man's 
wronging  a  woman,  a  man  unfaithful  to  his  marital 
vows  as  despicable  a  creature  as  the  world  contained. 
How  soon  I  changed  my  opinions !  And  why  ? 
Because  I  was  naturally  wicked;  because  I  was  prone 
to  sin;  because  the  devil  is  born  in  all  men?  Let 
the  reader  judge! 

After  living  with  my  wife's  parents  for  a  little 
over  a  year,  we  started  house  keeping  for  ourselves 

at  the apartment  house,  where  we  rented  a 

cosey  little  flat  for  twelve  hundred  dollars  per 


80  A   NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

annum.  We  furnished  it  elegantly,  neatly,  but  not 
extravagantly,  although  my  father-in-law  once 
commented  on  the  purchase  of  a  plush  parlor  suit 
which  cost  us  about  five  hundred  dollars,  as  possibly 
being  a  little  beyond  our  means,  while  he  jokingly 
compared  us  to  the  young  couple  who  started  out  in 
life  with  the  well  intended  gift  of  a  solid  silver 
service,  which  induced  them  to  buy  everything 
to  conform  thereto,  and  in  consequence  soon 
found  themselves  bankrupt,  and  in  trouble. 

My  wife  at  this  time  took  up  the  study  of  art, 
learned  to  paint,  and  accompanying  her  as  I  did 
to  art  galleries,  and  sales  of  fine  paintings,  she 
unconsciously  and  imperceptibly  educated  me  as  well 
as  herself. 

Few  people,  who  have  not  some  sense  of  beauty, 
but  how  few  people  there  are  who  truly  distinguish 
between  glitter  and  gold  ! 

In  educating  herself,  and  educating  me,  we  both 
acquired  a  distaste  for  anything  other  than  the  real. 
Nothing  was  cheap  or  shoddy  in  our  apartments. 
Everything  was  good,  and  in  consequence  expensive. 
I  was  fortunate  enough  to  be  successful  in  business, 
and  was  making  money.  I  accordingly  could 
afford  our  luxuries,  but  instead  of  saving,  we  became 
prodigal.  From  starting  out  with  the  expectation 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  81 

of  living  at  the  rate  of  three  thousand  or  four 
thousand  dollars  a  year,  we  were  soon  spending 
eight  thousand,  nine  thousand,  and  finally  twelve 
thousand  and  even  fifteen  and  sixteen  thousand 
dollars  per  annum. 

In  the  meantime  we  made  friends.  Hospitable  as 
we  had  always  been,  I  had  particularly  impressed  my 
wife  with  the  difference  between  foreigners  and 
Americans.  An  American  will  be  the  most  liberal 
when  he  meets  his  friends  outside  of  his  home.  At 
nis  home,  unless  it  be  on  special  occasions,  an 
American  will  talk  and  gossip  by  the  hour,  for  the 
half  day,  or  for  a  whole  evening  without  once 
thinking  of  offering  "a  bite  to  eat,  or  a  drop  to  drink." 
And  why?  Because  the  men  are  niggardly,  do  not  care 
for  home  comforts,  are  averse  to  entertaining?  Not  at 
all;  but  primarily  because,  unlike  her  European  sister, 
the  average  American  city  bred  woman  is  &poor,  aye 
even  a  slovenly  housekeejyer.  They  are  not  mean,  or 
penurious,  the  majority  are  prodigal  in  what  they 
spend — but  they  lack  the  careful  tuition  that  the 
English  mother,  or  the  German  "  Hau&frau " 
invariably  bestows  upon  her  daughter,  and  in 
consequence  there  is  more  reckless  waste,  more 
useless  extravagance  among  Americans  than  is  found 
in  any  other  nation  on  the  globe,  and  whereas  an 
F 


02  A    NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

American  city  bred  girl  is  in  most  instances  well 
educated,  the  American  mother  usually  forgets  the 
prime  import  of  fitting  her  daughter  for  household 
duties;  and  possibly  without  even  being  aware  of  it, 
the  average  American  is  in  most  cases  afraid  he  does 
not  live  as  well  as  his  neighbor,  that  his  wife  does 
not  set  so  nice  a  table,  or  so  clean  a  cloth  as  his 
neighbor's  wife,  and  so  unconsciously  he  feels 
ashamed  of  his  home,  of  his  table,  aye,  even  of  his 
wife,  and  as  a  result  hospitality  is  gradually  dying 
out— and  the  American  women— not  the  men — are  to 

blame. 

Look  to  a  man's  stomach 
And  you  win  his  heart. 

And  as  Lord  Lytton  said  ; 

We  may  live  without  poetry,  music  and  art ; 
We  may  live  without  conscience,  and  live  without  heart ; 
We  may  live  without  friends  ;  we  may  live  without  books; 
But  civilized  man  cannot  live  without  cooks. 

He  may  live  without  books — what  is  knowledge  but  grieving  ! 
He  may  live  without  hope — what  is  hope  but  deceiving  ? 
He  may  live  without  love — what  is  passion  but  pining  ? 
But  where  is  the  man  that  can  live  without  dining  ? 

As  a  sequence  to  our  hospitality,  we  soon  had  a 
great  many  friends,  particularly  among  the  male  sex. 
They  were  all  agreeable  companions,  good  sunny 
day  acquaintances,  but  none  of  them  posessed  of 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  83 

qualities   which   go   to   make    up    the    "  friend    in 
need/' 

Among  these,  there  was  one  who  soon  became 
deeply  infatuated  with  my  wife. 

Himself  a  widower,  an  excellent  talker,  and  of 
necessity  racher  popular  with  women,  he  soon 
ingratiated  himself  into  my  wife's  favor. 

I  would  permit  him  to  call  at  any  and  all  times, 
and  had  not  my  wife  herself  opened  my  eyes  to  my 
blindness,  I  might  have  continued  his  acquaintance 
to  this  day. 

Once  upon  a  time  I  remember  his  telling  me  ; 

"Bob,  it  is  a  wonderful  thing  how  you  ever  ran 
across  a  girl  like  your  wife.  To  think  in  a  city  like 
New  York,  among  over  a  million  of  people,  to  find 
"  one  woman  in  a  million  !  " 

Another  friend  would  tell  me,  how  much  he 
admired  her;  that  he  had  never  seen  so  agreeable  a 
woman ;  how  beautiful  she  was  ;  how  he  loved  to 
see  her  smile  ! 

And  If 

I  would  be  delighted,  flattered,  pleased.  The 
more  men  thought  of  my  wife,  aye,  even  if  they  loved 
her,  the  better  I  liked  them.  My  Edith  was  wy  wife, 
as  such,  no  matter  what  I  did,  she  was  immaculate  ! 
Why,  I  would  as  willingly  have  doubted  truth 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 


itself,  as  to  think  her  capable  of  a  thought  other 
than  pure.  And  I  loved  her  !  I  worshiped  her,  and 
I  was  not  mistaken  in  her.  She  was  good,  goodness 
personified. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


At  this  time  we  were  rushing  things  at  a  rather 
rapid  pace. 

Fond  of  amusements,  of  music,  of  art,  there  was 
not  a  theatrical  performance,  not  a  new  production 
of  any  kind  at  which  my  wife  and  I  were  not  usually 
first  nighters.  After  the  performances  no  place  but 
Delmonicos  would  suit  us,  (the  Holland,  Waldorf 
and  Imperial  \vere  then  unknown),  and  seldom  did 
we  retire  until  a  rather  early  hour  in  the  morning. 
We  were  living  very  fast. 

Just  then  my  wife  again  found  herself  enciente. 
In  great  part  owing  to  our  rapid  life,  the  child  then 
born,  was  weakly  and  only  lived  a  few  weeks.  Its 
death  was  our  fast  sorrow.  It  however  seemed  to 
knit  us  closer  together.  As  I  at  the  time  took  a 
great  part  of  the  blame  to  myself,  my  wife  seemed 
to  grow  the  more  fond  and  affectionate  towards  me. 
I  honestly  believe  at  the  period  whereof  I  now 
write,  my  wife  really  loved  me. 

In  the  meantime  our  little  boy  had  grown  into  a 


8G  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

manly  looking  tofc  of  three.  Sturdy,  strong,  of  a 
splendid  constitution,  he  had  such  fine  eyes,  such  a 
beautiful  head,  surmounted  by  such  lovely  golden 
hair,  that  his  nurses  would  be  stopped  in  the  street, 
people  would  ask  whose  boy  he  was,  and  often  when 
he  would  be  at  our  parlor  windows,  would  I  see  and 
hear  of  passers-by  throwing  kisses  at,  or  calling 
attention  to  him.  He  was  so  beautiful,  so  sturdy,  so 
manly  a  boy,  that  a  famous  dentist,  who  lived  on  the 
next  street,  in  the  rear  of  our  own  apartments,  sent  to 
us  requesting  that  the  beautiful  golden  haired  boy  be 
brought  over  to  his  office.  He  wanted  to  see  him.  Ah, 
R°y>  Jou  were  the  pride  of  both  your  mother's  and 
your  father's  life.  The  joy  of  your  grandmother's 
existence.  Little  did  we  think  that  you  would  so 
soon  step  beyond  us,  into  the  infinite,  where  no 
doubt  you  are  at  this  moment  awaiting  the  coming 
of  him,  who  took  you  in  his  arms  when  you  could 
hardly  walk,  who  rocked  and  cooed  you  to  sleep  for 
many  a  night,  and  who  for  fear  of  disturbing 
"papa's  boy  "  would  hold  you  silently  by  the  hour, 
even  until  his  very  arms  ached.  And  when  you  grew 
older,  how  your  papa  was  all  in  all  to  you  !  How  it 
was  papa  first,  last,  and  all  the  time  !  How  you 
instinctively  seemed  to  feel  "  my  PAPA  "  was  every 
thing  you  had  in  the  world.  How  once  upon  a  time 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  87 

when  one  of  your  nurses  jokingly  toldjou,  your  papa 
did  not  know  everything ;  he  heard  you  in  perfect 
horror  pull  her  to  rights,  and  rebuke  her  for  her  lack 
of  respect ! 

Ah  Roy,  boy,  this  is  years  ago,  but  when  your 
daddy  thinks  of  the  pride  he  took  in  you,  how  before 
you  were  a  year  old,  he  would  buy  you  books  which 
he  knew  you  would  like  to  read  when  you  got  to  the 
a^e  of  nine,  ten,  or  eleven,  airl  how  his  friends  used 
to  joke  and  jive  him  on  his  compiling  a  "  nursery 
library!"  Ah,  my  boy,  it  is  hard  to  think  that  you 
had  to  leave  us  so  soon;  you  that  were  to  be  papa's 
lawyer;  papa's  help  meet;  mamma's  stand  by; 
mamma's  prop. 

At  about  this  time  I  had  business  calling  me  to 
Europe.  I  had  taken  passage  for  my  wife  as  well  as 
myself,  when  at  the  last  moment,  she  changed  her 
mind.  I  went  alone.  She  to  Newport. 

While  in  Europe,  making  my  stay  as  short  as 
possible,  I  purchased  everything  imaginable,  which 
I  thought  might  be  useful  and  at  the  same  time 
pleasing  to  my  wife.  Silks  by  the  piece,  stockings, 
gloves,  handkerchiefs,  cloaks,  dress  goods,  and 
everything  that  I  thought  my  wife  could  need,  or 
would  like  to  have,  and  for  my  boy  almost  every 
thing  I  could  find.  I  almost  impoverished  myself 


88  A   NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

On  leaving,  I  cabled  my  wife  when  to  expect  me.  I 
arrived  on  the  Aurania  on  a  Sunday;  just  at 
sundown.  It  was  about  half  an  hour  too  late  for  the 
health  officer  to  pass  us. 

Only  those  who  have  had  similar  experiences  can 
appreciate  my  feelings.  In  sight  of  land,  with  the 
city  I  loved  in  full  view  of  me,  with  my  wife  awaiting 
me  at  my  home,  I  was  forced  to  stay  on  board  ship 
until  sunrise,  no  matter  how  I  longed  to  meet  and 
greet  my  dear  ones  !  And  how  my  fellow  passengers 
grumbled  and  growled,  and  how  drearily  the  hours 
sped  on,  until  the  next  morning  we  finally  reached 
our  dock.  "While  slowly  and  majestically  sailing 
up  the  river,  how  I  scanned  the  pier  we  were 
bound  for,  trying  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  my  wife,  or 
boy !  And  then  to  be  greeted  by  no  one,  and  only, 
when  in  the  midst  of  a  custom  house  officers 
examination,  to  have  my  father-in-law  come  up  to 
me,  grab  me  by  the  arm,  give  me  a  hearty  shake  of 
the  hand,  and  on  my  inquiring  for  my  wife,  to  be 
told  she  staid  over  at  Newport  till  this  morning,  and 
although  she  will  arrive  to-night,  thought  she  would 
ask  me  to  meet  you  instead- 

Good  old  man  that  you  were,  John  B.,  and  firm  as 
your  friendship  ever  has  stood  the  test  of  years, 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  89 

you  were  not  my  wife,  and  cruel  it  was  for  me  to 
be  so  heartlessly  disappointed  ! 

Howsoever ;  after  I  had  been  home  some  hours,  my 
wife  and  family  arrived,  and  then  what  excitement 
there  was  in  opening  my  trunks,  and  how  deeply  I  felt 
It  was  "  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive."  And 
after  the  last  bundle  had  been  opened,  I  was  fully 
repaid,  when  my  wife  in  thanking  me,drawled  out : 

"You  have  done  a  great  deal  better  than  I 
expected,  dear.  I  thought  you  would  bring  home  a 
Jot  of  trash 

The  years  went  by.  We  moved  to  more  expensive 
quarters,  and  from  paying  a  rental  of  twelve  hundred 
dollars  per  year,  we  moved  to  the  —  —  house, 
where  nothing  less  than  about  double  that  figure 
would  give  us  the  desired  accommodations. 

There  we  made  new  friends,  met  new  faces,  and  my 
wife's  health  being  excellent,  fell  into  more  than  our 
former  round  of  pleasures. 

It  was  there,  however,  that  my  Nemesis  o'er  took 
me,  and  whereas  misery  and  desertion  did  not  follow 
until  long  after,  it  nevertheless  was  while  residing 
there  that  I  met  the  "  devil  incarnate,"  to  whom  all 
my  subsequent  troubles  were  attributable. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Solomon  Nathan  was  a  jew  !  But  one  of  those  mis 
named  jews  of  whom,  fortunately,  the  race  boasts 
but  few.  Born  in  Frankfort,  educated  in  Venice, 
transplanted  to  Paris,  he  had  the  audacity  to  style 
himself  a  Parisian.  He  was  ashamed  of  his  nation. 
A  Jew  of  the  Jews,  both  by  name  and  in  looks, 
yet  this  "modern  Macchiavelli "  usually  lied  even 
about  his  parentage. 

Ashamed  of  his  nation ! 

What  people  can  boast  a  history  such  as  that  of 
the  Jews  ?  The  Roman  claims  a  Caesar ;  the 
Macedonian  an  Alexander;  the  Franks  a  Charlemagne; 
the  Germans  a  Barbarossa;  this  country  a  Wash 
ington  ;  the  world  a  Napoleon.  But  who  aside  from 
the  Jews  can  boast  of  a  Law-Giver—  who  saw  the 
JLordface  to  face — of  a  Ruler,  a  man  after  God's  own 
heart — of  a  king  who  in  riches  and  wisdom  surpassed 
all  other  kings ;  and  of  ancestors  such  as  Abraham, 
Isaac  and  Jacob —compare  them  with  Remus  and 
Romulus — and  then  think  of  tdie  Prophets  whose 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  91 

glory  will  last  forever ;  and  of  Him,  the  KING  OF 
KINGS,  the  son  of  God,  who  born  of  the  house  of 
David,  was  a  Jew -one  of  God's  own  people,  and 
yet  the  Redeemer  of  the  world. 

And  later,  who  has  not  heard  of  Mamonendes, 
Aben-Ezra,  Spinoza,  Moses  Mendelssohn, 
Sylvester,  and  Isaac  Goldschmidt  ?  And  in  more 
recent  times,  of  Juda  P.  Benjamin,  Disraeli,  of 
Montefiore,  Cremieux,  and  Hegel  ?  Among  musicans 
whose  operas  are  grander  than  Meyerbeer's,  Kossini's 
and  Halevy's  ;  whose  oratorios  (Handel  excepted) 
more  soul-stirring  than  Mendelssohn's. 

Among  poets  does  not  Heinrich  Heine  stand  in 
the  front  f 

In  "  Ben  Hur,  Lew  Wallace  says  : 

I  always  think  of  great  men  marching  down  the  centuries 
in  groups,  and  goodly  companies,  separable  according  to 
nationalities;  here  tve  Indian;  there  the  Egyptian;  yonder 
the  Assyrian ;  above  them  the  music  of  trumpets,  and  the 
beauty  of  banners ;  and  on  the  right  hand  and  left,  as 
reverend  spectators,  the  generations  from  the  beginning, 
numberless.  As  they  go,  I  think  of  the  Greeks,  saying  :  Lo  ! 
the  Hellene  leads  the  way  !  Then  the  Ilomau  replies,  Silence  ! 
What  was  your  place  is  ours  now  ;  we  have  left  you  behind  as 
dust  trodden  on.  And  all  the  time,  from  tVie  far  f*ont,  back 
over  the  line  of  march,  as  well  as  the  foreward  into  the  farthest 
future,  streams  a  light  of  which  wranglers  know  nothing, 
except  that  it  is  forever  leading  them  on— the  light  of 
Revelation  !  Who  are  they  that  carry  it  ?  Ah,  the  old  Judeau 
blood !  How  it  leaps  at  the  thought !  By  the  light  we  kn«>\v 
them.  Thrice  blessed,  O  our  fathers,  servants  of  God, 
keepers  of  the  Covenants !  Ye  are  the  leaders  of  men,  the 
living  and  the  dead.  The  front  i*  thine  ;  and.  though  everj 
Roman  were  a  Ciesar,  ye  shall  not  lose  it ! 


92  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

''  My  son,  use  your  fancy  and  stand  with  me,  as  if  by  the 
way-side,  while  the  chosen  of  Israel  pass  us  at  the  head  of  the 
procession.  Now  they  come— the  patriarchs  first;  next  the 
fathers  of  the  tribes.  I  almost  hear  the  bells  of  their  camels, 
and  the  lowing  of  their  herds.  "Who  is  he  that  walks  alone 
between  the  companies  ?  An  old  man,  yet  his  eye  is  not  dim, 
nor  his  natural  force  abated.  He  knew  the  Lord  face  to  face  ! 
Warrior,  poet,  orator,  law-giver,  prophet,  his  greatness  is  as 
the  sun  at  morning,  its  flood  of  splendor  quenching  all  other 
lights,  even  that  of  the  first  and  noblest  of  the  Caesars.  After 
him  the  judges  ;  and  then  the  kings  ;  the  son  of  Jesse,  a  hero 
in  war,  and  a  singer  of  songs  eternal,  as  that  of  the  sea  ;  and 
his  son,  who,  passing  all  other  kings  in  riches  and  wisdom, 
and  while  making  the  desert  habitable,  and  in  its  waste  places 
planting  cities,  forgot  not  Jerusalem,  which  the  Lord  hath 
chosen  for  his  seat  on  earth. 

Bend  lower,  my  son  !  These  that  come  next  are  the  first  of 
their  kind,  and  the  last.  Their  faces  are  raised,  as  if  they 
heard  a  voice  from  the  sky,  and  were  listening.  Their  lives 
were  full  of  sorrow.  Their  garments  smell  of  tombs  and 
caverns.  Hearken  to  a  woman  among  them—"  Sing  ye  to  the 
Lord,  for  He  hath  triumphed  gloriously !  "  Nay,  put  your 
forehead  in  the  dust  before  them,  they  were  tongues  of  God, 
the  servants,  who  looked  through  heaven,  and  seeing  all  the 
future,  wrote  what.they  saw,  and  left  the  writing  to  be  proven 
by  time.  Kings  turned  pale  as  they  approached  them,  and 
nations  trembled  at  the  sound  of  their  voices.  The  elements 
waited  upon  them.  In  their  hands  they  carried  every  bounty 
and  every  plague.  See  the  Tishbite  and  his  servant  Elisha ! 
See  the  sad  son  of  Hilkiah,  and  him  the  seer  of  visions,  by  the 
river  of  Chebar  !  And  of  the  three  children  of  Judah  who 
refused  the  image  of  the  Babylonian,  lo  !  that  one  who,  in  the 
feast  to  the  thousand  lords,  so  confounded  the  astrologers. 
And  yonder,  O  my  son,  kiss  the  dust  again  1  -"  yonder  the 
gentle  son  of  Amoz,  from  whom  the  world  has  its  promise  of 
the  Messiah  to  come  !  " 

And  this  man  was  ashamed  of  his  nation ! 

I  originally  met  him  while  living  at  the 

Hotel.  Homelier  than  the  majority  of  men, 

he  was  one  of  those  thin,  wiry,  nervous  bodies,  who 
from  their  very  lack  of  other  attractions,  seem 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  93 

posessed  of  a  certain  animal  magnetism,  which 
existing,  as  it  usually  does — for  evil—  mukt  -s 
of  angels — devils;  of  devils — demons;  and  when 
exerted  to  influence  women — in  ninety-nine  cases  out 
of  a  hundred — succeeds — love,  honor  and  religion 
notwithstanding — in  accomplishing  its  purpose. 

His  face  was  thin  and  cadaverous,  his  head  (bald 
and  almost  devoid  of  hair)  abnormally  small, 
mouth  large  and  wicked,  eyes  of  a  yellowish  color, 
like  unto  those  of  a  rabbit  or  monkey,  while  the 
most  prominent  feature  of  his  face  was  a  long,  thin, 
extra-ordinarily  large  nose,  which  at  the  end  was 
particularly  broad  and  wide,  and  which  uncon 
sciously  reminded  the  beholder  when  taken  in 
connection  with  his  other  features  of  "Darwin's 
Descent  of  Man."  In  fact,  if  ever  man  descended 
from  animal,  this  one  was  less  removed  than  the 
majority.  His  looks  proved  it  !  Beast  was  written 
all  over  him.  He  always  made  me  think  of  dirt. 
His  thin,  colorless  mustache  seemed  muddy,  and 
involuntarily  I  used  to  think  his  very  touch 
pollution. 

Yet  this  man  was  poseesed  of  so  much  magnetism, 
hypnotic  influence,  or  whatever  you  chose  to  term  it, 
that  I  called  him  friend,  and  unconsciously  made 
more  of  him  than  I  would  of  a  brother. 


94  A    NEW    ENGLAND    \VOMAK. 

Instinct  warned  me  against  him.  And  yet,  as  the 
glitter  of  a  snake's  eye  is  said  to  irresistibly  attract 
certain  birds,  so  irresistibly  did  he  attract  me  to  him 
that  (as  told  in  one  of  my  preceding  chapters),  he 
was  the  very  man  who  personally  was  cognizant  of, 
and  present  with  me,  when  undergoing  the  deepest 
misery  I,  up  to  that  time,  had  ever  endured. 

After  my  marriage,  I  lost  sight  of  him  for  fully 
five  years.  During  that  time  he  had  married,  and  as 
chance  would  have  it,  I  again  ran  across  him  at 
about  the  time  I  write  of. 

What  evil  genius  prompted  me  to  take  him  to  my 
house,  introduce  him  to  my  wife,  invite  him  to  call 
again,  and  bring  his  wife,  I  hardly  know. 

Poor  little  woman,  she  !  Pretty,  as  she  once  upon 
a  time  must  have  been  ;  frail,  as  at  the  time  of  meet 
ing  her,  she  certainly  was  ,  her  very  looks  seemed  to 
be  a  mute  protest  as  to  the  character  of  the  man  she 
had  married. 

She  died  within  less  than  a  year  after  our  first 
acquaintance. 

She  had  a  sweet  face,  and  when  she  and  Edith 
first  met,  they  seemed  irresistibly  attracted  toward 
one  another.  A  week  before  she  died,  my  wife  told 
me  how  the  poor  woman  had  wept  at  the  thought  of 
her  husband's  selfishness,  and  apparent  indifference 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  95 

how  she  had  complained  of  his  taking  other  women 
to  the  Opera ;  particularly  one,  who  under  the  guise 
of  respectability,  had  been  forced  upon  her,  and  was 
at  that  moment  residing  at  their  very  hotel ! 

And  to  think,  that  this  man,  this  apology  for  man, 
should  shortly  thereafter — knowing  his  faults  as  she 
did — be  able  to  hypnotize,  magnetize  and  finally 
influence  my  wife  that  eventually  she  became 
perfectly  impervious  to  everything  but  his  wishes, 
and  permitted  him  to  so  control  her,  as  to  make  her, 
for  a  while  at  any  rate,  none  other  than  a  pliant  tool 
in  his  hands. 

And  I? 

I  almost  permitted  him  to  become  one  of  my 
family.  At  least  six  days  out  of  the  seven  would  he 
dine  at  our  table.  Seldom  a  day  that  we  did  not  see 
him  at  our  apartments,  and  whereas  I  never  liked 
him,  he  was  with  us  so  much,  so  often,  and  always, 
that  more  far-seeing  people  used  to  remark  upon  it 
and  it  was  not  long  before  gossip  had  it  that  he  was 
in  love  with  my  wife,  and  that  I  was  perfectly  blind. 
When  I  did  hear  of  these  remarks.  I  was  amused, 
knowing  full  well,  although  the  man  might  admire  my 
wife,  and  mayhap,  even  love  her,  she,  why  she  was 
adamant,  alabaster,  marble,  and  no  matter  what  other 
women  were,  my  wife  was  purity,  honor  and  probity 


96  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

itself.  Her  mother  in  talking  about  her  to  me  had 
once  upon  a  time  told  me,  she  had  never  known  her 
child  to  be  guilty  of  sin,  even  in  thought.  And 
perhaps  unconsciously  I  had  grown  to  regard  my 
wife  as  of  a  higher  order  of  being  than  ordinary 
mortals.  The  result  was  when  my  relations  and 
friends  warned  me  against  the  man's  continual 
companionship,  I  simply  said  I — not  my  wife — was 
the  attraction,  and  I  honestly  thought  so  too. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


At  about  this  time — happening  one  day  to  stop  at 
Sheepshead  Bay,  an  English  friend  suggested  we 
attend  the  Coney  Island  races. 

Never  having  visited  a  race  course  before,  I  was 
comfortably  ensconced  at  the  side  of  my  wife,  when 
after  a  rather  exciting  finish,  my  friend  jubilantly 
exclaimed : 

"Well  that  is   worth   just   twenty  pounds  to  me." 

Thinking,  if  a  perfect  stranger  could  so  easily  win 
money,  I  might  succeed  equally  well,  I  entered 
the  betting  ring,  and  selected  a  horse,  where  on  an 
investment  of  a  fiver,  I  might  win  two  hundred. 
Needless  to  say,  I  was  disappointed  1  Thinking  I 
would  look  for  my  money  where  I  lost  it,  I  invested 
another  fiver  on  a  twenty  to  one  shot,  and  again 
found  myself  wiser,  but  poorer.  Never  having 
gambled  before,  I  remember,  I  felt  particularly 
uncomfortable,  but  having  noticed  that  the  short 
odds  seemed  to  win,  and  that  the  favorites  were 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

reaching  the  goal  first,  I  in  the  next  race  put  up  ten 
dollars  against  sixteen,  and  won. 

I  was  jubilant !  I  stood  in  line,  thinking 
my  ticket  was  worth  sixteen  dollars,  and 
that  in  consequence  I  was  ooly  four  dollars  loser 
on  the  day.  when  I  was  surprised  to  receive  back 
twenty-six  dollars,  the  sixteen,  and  my  original 
investment. 

Hello  !  thinks  I,  what  fools  men  are  !  They  are 
greedy,  and  want  to  get  rich  too  quick.  Four 
favorites  have  won  to-day,  and  only  one  outsider. 
I  will  come  here  some  day,  will  play  favorites  only  : 
and,  if  I  lose  twice,  I  am  pretty  sure  to  win  the 
other  four  times. 

Accordingly,  unbeknown  to  anybody,  I,  some  days 
thereafter,  visited  the  races  again  ;  and,  as  absolutely 
every  favorite  won,  I  arrived  home  with  my  pockets 
literally  bulging  out  with  money,  and  telling  my  wife 
to  count  what  I  had,  I  told  her  I  thought  going  to 
the  races  the  greatest  sport  I  knew  of,  and  that  I 
had  discovered  the  secret  "  as  to  how  to  do  it." 

The  very  next  day  I  visited  Brighton,  where  I, 
however,  soon  found  the  associations  somewhat 
different,  and  also  found  favorites  were  not  winning. 
After  playing  them  four  consecutive  times  and 
finding  myself  quite  a  loser,  I  happened  to  alight  on 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  99 

JL  horse,  whose  jockey  in  previous  races  had  evinced 
good  judgment,  and  as  this  horse  won,  on  an  invest 
ment  of  twenty  dollars,  I  found  myself  some  four 
hundred  the  richer.  As  good  luck  seldom  travels 
alone,  on  an  investment  of  fifty  dollars  in  the  very 
next  race,  I  cashed  in  over  five  hundred  dollars,  and 
being  paid  pretty  largely  in  small  bills,  I  was  actually 
almost  unable  to  pocket  my  winnings,  and  had  to 
put  the  money  into  every  conceivable  place  about  my 
person. 

I  refer  to  the  foregoing  as  I  thus  contracted  a 
habit  which  eventually  induced  me  to  join  all  our 
reputable  jockey  clubs,  and  whereas  I  only  frequented 
the  legitimate  tracks,  and  then  only  on  #ala  days,  it 
was  on  one  of  these  gala  days,  where,  as  a  member 
of  the  C.  I.  J.  C.,  I  was  sitting  with  my  wife  in  our 
club  house,  where  an  episode  occurred  which  at  the 
time  passed  unnoticed,  but  which  in  subsequent 
years  I  have  often  thought  of  and  reverted  to. 

It  was  on  the  occasion  of  the  famous  Suburban 
which  Salvator  won. 

In  my  day  I  have  seen  Hindoo,  Luke  Blackburn, 
Monitor,  Parole,  Eole,  Iroquois,  and  Miss  Woodford. 
Later  on  Fireiizi,  The  Bard,  Troubadour,  Hanover, 
Tremout,  Domino,  Tammany.  Lamplighter,  and 
every  other  king  or  queen  of  the  turf  who  ever 


100  A    NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

looked  through  a  bridle.  But  as  among  men  there 
was  only  one  Julius  Caesar  among  horses,  (to  my 
mind  at  any  rate)  there  was  only  one  Salvator. 

Among  the  grand  lot  above  enumerated,  all 
excepting  Tremont  were  repeatedly  disgracefully 
beaten.  The  latter  only  ran  in  thirteen  races  as  a 
two  year  old,  and  if  he  had  continued  in  training,  it 
is  very  doubtful  as  to  whether  he  would  have  been 
able  to  go  a  distance,  as  to  the  best  of  my  recollec 
tion  speed  not  stamina  seemed  to  be  his  forte. 

But  Salvator : 

As  a  two  year  old  he  started  six  times.  He  was  beaten 
twice.  Once,  when  green,  the  first  time  out  of  the  box  he 
came  in  a  close  fourth  to  his  stable  companion,  who  was  only 
beaten  a  neck  by  the  Faverdale  colt.  The  next  time  he  was 
only  beaten  a  head  by  the  famous  Proctor  Knott,  who  then,  was 
pounds  better  than  any  other  horse  in  America. 

As  a  three  year  old,  he  started  eight  times,  and  then  was  only 
beaten  once  by  Longstreet,  and  Proctor  Knott,  to  whom  he 
was  conceding  from  five  to  seven  pounds  each,  and  nearly  all 
knowing  horse-men  have  since  conceded  the  race  was  one  of 
those  flukes  which  unaccountable  as  they  are,  nevertheless 
go  far  toward  making  the  "sport  of  kings,"  the  game  of 
chance  it  is. 

In  his  four  year  old  career  he  started  five  times,  each 
time  scoring  brackets,  and  if  he  had  started  fifty  times,  I 
doubt  whether  in  his  four  year  old  form,  there  was  a  horse  in 
the  universe  who  could  make  him  extend  himself  ! 

But  to  my  story  : 

Early  in  the  winter  I  had  managed  to  place  quite 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  101 

a  little  sum  of  money  on  this  horse,  at  the  odds  of 
twenty -five  to  one  to  win,  and  ten  to  one  to  show  up. 
When  the  weights  were  announced,  I  looked  upon 
the  race  as  a  gift  to  my  favorite.  A  few  days  before 
the  event,  the  papers  were  full  of  accounts  of  the 
wonderful  trial  he  had  shown.  The  odds  had 
dropped  from  an  average  of  twenty  to  one,  down  to 
three,  and  even  two  to  one,  and  had  it  not  "been 
for  an  an  insane  plunge  on  Tenny,  Salvator  would 
beyond  question  have  been  barred  in  the  betting. 

On  the  day  of  the  race,  the  city  seemed  wild,  the 
sporting  fraternity  at  any  rate  so.  Here  there  were 
adherents  of  the  Haggin  colors,  there  believers  in 
the  prowess  of  Pulsifer's  "  Sway  Back/'  I  have 
known  of  judges  excusing,  nay  of  courts  in  New 
York  City  and  Brooklyn  adjourning,  so  as  to  enable 
members  of  the  bar,  and  others,  to  attend  this  much 
talked  of,  never  to  be  forgotten  race. 

My  wife  and  I  left  the  city  early,  and  were 
comfortably  and  snugly  installed,  while  thousands 
of  less  fortunate  spectators  were  not  only  unable  to 
secure  seats,  but  in  a  good  many  instances  were 
prevented  from  even  obtaining  a  view  of  the  tracV, 
so  dense  was  the  crowd. 

After  three  ordinary  races  had  been  decided,  which 
only  whetted  the  anticipations  of  the  spectators, 


102  A    NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

who  one  and  all  came  to  see  the  great  Suburban, 
and  after  the  nine  participants  had  been  duly 
warmed  up,  and  had  been  given  their  finishing 
touches,  they  duly  formed  in  procession,  and  were 
paraded  in  front  of  the  grand  stand  in  the  following 
order ;  First  to  appear  was  Longstreet,  with  Martie 
Bergen  on  his  back.  Next  to  him,  Prince  Koyal, 
with  Spider  Anderson  as  his  pilot.  Then  Mr. 
Gal  way's  Montague,  with  Martin  as  his  jockey. 
Next  Kaceland,(the  previous  years  winner),  on  whom 
sat  sphynx  like  Tony  Hamilton.  Then  Stride  way,  to 
ride  whom,  George  Taylor  had  been  specially 
engaged.  Then  Cassius,  on  whom  Fred  Taral  had 
the  mount.  After  him  the  "  sway  back "  Tenny, 
speedy,  game,  but  uncertain,  with  whom  Garrison 
felt  cock  sure  of  winning,  and  on  whom  he  was 
practicing  all  the  clap  trap,  love  of  applause, 
theatrical  jockey  tricks  he  only  was  capable  of;  and 
lastly  the  two  Haggin  representatives,  Firenzi  and 
Salvator;  Kay  on  the  former;  Ike  Murphy  on  the 
latter. 

Beturning  to  the  starting  point,  it  took  Mr.  Cald- 
well  but  a  few  minutes  to  align  them  in  almost 
perfect  order,  and  suddenly  catching  them  to  a 
wonderfully  prompt  and  even  start,  he  dropped  his 


A    NEW    FNUHNU    WoMv.V  ll))', 

flag,  and  fully  thirty  thousand  voices  involuntarily 
shouted : 

"  They're  off." 

The  first  to  show  was  Strideway;  hardly  a 
fractional  second  thereafter  Cassius  broke  through 
the  ranks,  and  rushing  to  the  front,  he  led  past  the 
stand,  followed  by  Longstreet,  and  Strideway.  As 
they  neared  the  quarter  post,  Cassius  had  increased 
his  lead  to  four  lengths,  while  hia  nearest 
attendants  were  still  Strideway  and  Longstreet,  with 
Salvator  in  the  rear  of  Raceland  and  Prince  Royal. 
Tenny  absolutely  last. 

At  the  half  mile  post,  Cassius'  lead  had  been  some 
what  shortened,  while  Longstreet  and  Strideway 
were  running  close  up,  with  Salvator  next. 

An  eighth  of  a  mile  further,  Longstreet  dropped 
back  beaten,  and  without  any  apparent  effort  the 
colored  Archer  gave  Salvator  his  head,  and  he 
quickly  disposed  of  the  fast  tiring  Strideway.  Once 
in  the  home  stretch  it  seemed  as  if  Fred  Taral,  on 
Cassius,  still  had  something  in  reserve,  as  with 
little  apparent  urging,  the  latter  gained  on  his 
closest  attendant,  but  Ike  Murphy  knew  what  sort 
of  cattle  he  had  in  front  of  him,  he  knew  the  Titan 
he  was  riding,  but  he  also  knew  that  the  wide  awake 
snapper  was  on  the  only  thoroughbred  who  had  any 


104  A   NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN". 

pretentious  to  class  in  the  same  category,  and 
knowing  Garrison's  tactics,  Ike  Murphy  played 
possum,  and  waited. 

On  they  come!  Cassius  still  leading,  and 
apparently  gaining;  Salvator  second;  Strideway 
third. 

Some  enthusiasts  commenced  shouting  ;  Cassius 
wins  !  Cassius  wins  !  When  all  of  a  sudden  the  cry 
was  raised:  Look  at  Garrison;  just  watch  Tenny  ! 
And  well  they  might  ! 

Up  to  this  point  the  snapper  had  permitted  his 
mount  to  trail  in  the  rear,  but  as  they  neared  the 
last  quarter,  humping  his  back,  and  bending  over  in 
his  "  do  or  die  style,"  Garrison  seemed  to  whisper  to 
Tenny,  and  his  horse,  understanding  what  was 
expected  of  him,  seemed  to  be  taking  two  jumps  to 
every  other  horses  one.  He  actually  seemed  to  be 
flying. 

TENNY  WINS  '     TENNY  WINS  !    they    yelled. 

Just  then  Murphy  awoke.  Riding  his  horse  like  a 
centaur,  he  gave  one  look  behind,  and  merely  letting 
out  a  link,  the  noble  chestnut  was  given  his  head, 
and  striding  over  Cassius  as  if  he  were  tied,  the 
Suburban  was  won  by  Salvator  in  the  fastest  time  it 
had  ever  been  run  in. 

Oh,    the   shouting,  the  cheering,  the    hurrahing. 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  105 

I  had  seen  many  races.  None  grander  than  this. 
My  investment  had  netted  me,  what  to  some  men, 
would  seem  a  fortune.  I  hurried  to  my  wife,  who, 
although  ordinarily  phlegmatic  and  indifferent,  on 
this  occasion  awoke.  She  smiled,  she  congratulated 
me.  I  almost  embraced  her  in  public.  I  was  too 
delighted  to  stay,  the  strain  had  been  such  that  I 
needed  relaxation. 

We  went  to  Manhattan  Beach  to  dinner.  There 
we  met  a  gentleman  friend.  Mi/  wife  greeted  him.  She 
smiled!  She  positively  seemed  more  delighted  at 
meeting  him,  than  at  my  wonderful  good  fortune. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


In  the  meantime,  my  family  had  increased,  and  I 
now  was  the  proud  father  of  Koy,  and  a  little 
daughter  we  called  Enid,  and  a  little  baby  boy. 

Children  seemed  to  come  to  my  wife  without 
effort.  Not  that  she  wanted  them,  but  paradoxical 
as  it  may  seem — perhaps  because  she  did  not  want 
them— they  were  born  to  her  apparently  without 
trouble,  and  whereas  she  always  felt  miserable  when 
carrying  them,  and  invariably  vowed  she  never  would 
have  any  more,  she  nevertheless  seemed  destined  to 
have  her  fair  share  of  them. 

Once,  on  my  telling  her  this  was  the  natural  order 
of  things,  she  flew  at  me  in  a  perfect  rage,  and 
whereas,  ordinarily  she  was  gentleness  and  goodness 
itself,  on  occasions  such  as  these,  she  seemed  to  be 
a  different  woman  entirely. 

Later  on,  I  discovered  most  of  her  perverted  ideas 
and  hallucinations  on  this  subject,  were  attributable 
to  her  mother's  occult  teachings,  in  which  she  had  for 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  107 

years  persisted.  She  would  always  condole  with  her 
daughter,  would  always  say ; 

"  Oh,  Edith,  dear.  You  must  not  have  any  more 
children.  Think  how  it  will  eventually  affect  your 
health  !  Think  how  it  will  ruin  your  figure  !  '' 

And  in  this  she  was  joined  by  some  equally  over 
wise  zealots,  mostly  of  New  England  extraction, 
and  whereas  I  know  the  generality  of  the  world 
attribute  the  worst  of  crimes  to  the  French,  I  for  one 
feel  convinced,  puritanical,  straight-laced,  New 
England  vies,  if  it  does  not  actually  out-do  France. 
In  fact,  incidentally,  I  want  to  take  this  opportunity 
of  stating : 

The  world  judges  the  French  by  the  Parisians- 
France  by  Paris !  I  wonder  how  many  of  my 
readers  know  that  there  is  less  bastardy  in  France 
by  fully  forty  per  cent,  than  there  is  in  either 
Scotland,  England,  Norway,  or  Germany?  Further 
more,  as  to  general  family  life  and  characteristics : 
There  is  no  nation  where  the  love  of  home,  the 
veneration  for  the  old,  the  care  for  the  aged  is  more 
evidenced  than  in  France. 

But  as  to  my  wife  !  Principled,  high  minded, 
noble  and  honest  woman  that  she  was ;  she  and  I 
never  could  in  calmness  discuss  the  subject  of 
raising  a  family. 


108  A    NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

She  had  been  an  only  child.  As  such,  she  had 
been  spoiled  by  both  her  father  and  mother ;  and, 
whereas  by  nature  she  was  gentle,  kind  and  deeply 
considerate  of  others,  she  nevertheless  had,  in  child 
hood,  been  allowed  so  much  of  her  own  way,  that 
unconsciously,  after  marriage,  I  had  seldom  thwarted 
or  circumvented  her  in  any  of  the  least  of  her 
wishes. 

She  was  a  very  cold  woman.  Few  of  the  ordinary 
endearments  such  as  are  apt  to  exist  between 
husband  and  wife  passed  between  us.  I  hardly 
remember  an  occasion  when  she  ever  voluntarily 
offered  to  even  kiss  me,  and  in  her  case  I  often 
mentally  reverted  to  Tennyson's  immortal  lines : 

Oh  woman  them  art  lesser  man 

And  thy  passions  unto  mine 

Are  as  moonlight  unto  sunlight 

And  as  water  unto  wine. 

But  T  loved  her  !  Nay  I  worshipped  her  !  As  in 
the  days  when  I  was  courting,  I  was  perfectly 
content  to  sit  at  her  side,  to  feel  her  presence  near 
me,  to  know  she  was  mine,  and  perhaps  love  her  the 
deeper,  because  unconsciously,  her  arrogating  to 
herself  the  posession  of  more  voluntary  chastity  and 
virtue  than  her  neighbor,  she  made  me  believe  she 
was  the  chaster,  the  purer,  the  better  a  woman. 

I  looked  upon  her  as   upon   a  beautiful  picture 


A  NEW   ENGLAND   WOMAN.  109 

, 

which  I  loved  to  have  before  me.  It  might  be  costly, 
but  I  owned  it;  it  V</N  muie,  and  I  was  a  fool. 

At  about  this  time,  resultant  on  our  increasing 
family,  we  gave  up  apartments  and  joined  the  ranks 
of  house-keepers,  on  the  new  and  beautiful  west  side 
of  town. 

We  commenced  furnishing  elegantly,  went  from 
one  extravagance  to  another,  and  when  our  house 
was  completely  finished,  I  remember  Edith  one 
day  voluntarily  telling  me  she  had  never  in  our 
early  days  dreamed  she  would  be  mistress  of  so  fine 
a  house. 

We  seemed  perfectly  happy,  and  excepting  one 
instance  which  later  occur ences  brought  back  to  my 
mind,  I  never  saw  the  least  sign  of  dissatisfaction  or 
rebellion  in  her. 

The  instance  I  refer  to,  occurred  at  about  the  time 
of  Mrs.  Nathan's  death.  Edith  saw  a  great  deal 
of  her,  and  thinking  my  wife's  health  might  eventually 
be  affected  by  too  frequent  calls,  I  requested  her  to 
partially  discontinue  her  visits.  I  remember 
her  saying : 

"I  will  do  just  as  I  choose!  In  fact  I  have  not 
enough  of  my  own  way  anyhow.  I  really  think  you 
imagine  I  am  a  fool,  but  you  \vill  find  out 
differently  some  day,  young  man  !  You  do  not  know 


110  A   NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

, 

me  at  all,  and  if  ever  I  make  up  my  mind,  you  had 
just  better  look  out. 

Mere  words,  they  seemed  to  me.  I  believe  I  even 
laughed  aloud  at  her  spunkiness.  But  in  after  years, 
when  I  questioned  myself,  when  thread  by  thread  I 
took  up  our  old  life,  these  words  came  back  to  me,  and 
I  saw  them  written  in  letters  of  fire.  Not  that  by 
heeding  the  warning,  I  could  have  averted  the 
catastrophe,  but  the  "  Mene,  mene,  tekel  upharsin" 
might  if  I  had  not  been  so  trusting  and  over  confi 
dent,  been  at  any  rate  heeded. 

We  were  hardly  comfortably  settled  in  our  new 
home,  when  one  evening  missing  Hoy's  cheerful 
"  Good  evening  papa,"  which  invariably  greeted  me, 
I  was  told  he  had  gone  to  bed  with  the  stomach-ache. 
Bushing  up  to  his  room,  I  found  him  in  his  crib,  but 
complaining  of  a  pain  which  he  had  been  bothered 
with  for  pretty  much  the  whole  afternoon. 

On  inquiring  as  to  whether  our  physican  had  been 
called,  my  wife  told  me  she  had  not  thought  it 
necessary,  but  on  my  telling  her  he  was  hardly  the 
boy  to  take  to  bed  unless  he  were  really  sick,  we 
sent  for  a  neighboring  physican,  scarcely  thinking 
his  trouble  serious  enough  for  us  to  send  for  our 
regular  house  doctor,  and  on  the  former  individual 
making  his  appearance,  and  finding  my  boy  asleep, 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WoMAtf.  Ill 

he  merely  left  some  simple  stomach  powders  to  be 
given  him  in  case  he  awoke,  and  promising  to  call 
the  next  day,  left  us. 

The  following  morning  Koy  appeared  slightly 
better,  so  not  worrying  about  him  in  the  least,  I  was 
surprised  on  my  return  home,  to  be  told  he  had 
again  taken  to  his  bed,  the  neighboring  physicau 
had  seen  him  and  prescribed  for  him,  but  if  he  was 
no  better  the  next  day,  wanted  to  again  be  called  in. 

I  went  up  to  my  boy  !  I  carried  him  down  stairs, 
I  put  him  in  his  papa's  bed,  and  there  tried  to 
amuse  him,  although  he  could  not  but  complain  of 
the  pains  he  was  laboring  under. 

It  was  on  the  next  day  that  this  nimcoop  of  a 
physican  suggested  to  us  that  our  boy  might 
possibly  have  something  serious  the  matter  with 
him,  and  in  consequence  would  like  us  to  call  in  our 
regular  physican  for  consultation.  No  sooner  said 
than  done. 

I  sent  for  my  old  friend.  He  consulted  with 
this  nimcoop  for  over  an  hour,  and  anxious  and 
upset  as  I  was,  I  was  finally  called  in. 

From  the  face  of  my  old  friend,  I  saw  something 
serious  was  amiss. 

"Mr.  F ,"  he  said,  "your  boy  probably  has 

'  appendicitis.1  We  cannot  be  sure  of  it,  but  he  has 


112  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

every  sympton  and  indication  of  it.  If  lie  really  has 
it,  there  is  only  one  chance  among  a  thousand  of  his 
surviving,  unless  he  has  an  operation  performed  on 
him.  And  in  his  present  condition  I  would  not 
advise  it.'' 

Cold,  cruel,  hard,  every  day  words  !  How  ye 
struck  me  like  sledge  hammer  blows  ! 

"Doctor,  what  shall  I  do,  what  can  I  do?  " 

"Nothing,  Mr.  F ,  merely  wait   and  see.     We 

may  be  wrong  in  our  prognocis,  and  in  that  event  as 
he  is  now  so  weak,  an  operation  might  be  fatal.  If 
he  were  my  son,  I  would  not  permit  it." 

With  that  he  was  about  leaving.  I  followed  him 
to  the  door. 

"  Oh  doctor,"  I  cried,  "  can  we  not  do  anything, 
could  not  something  have  been  done  differently  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  I  had  been  called  when  first  he  was  taken, 
I  would  probably  have  advised  an  operation  at  once. 
Now  I  am  afraid  it  is  too  late.  I  am  so  sorry,  and 
Eoy  such  a  fine  boy  !  " 

Ah,  old  friend,  your  words  were  meant  kindly,  but 
they  drove  all  hope  out  of  my  heart. 

It  was  then  I  went  into  my  lone  chamber.  It  was 
then  I  fell  down  upon  my  knees,  and  prayed  to  God 
to  save  my  boy,  my  son.  "  Oh  God,  grant  my  boy 
may  live,"  I  cried,  "grant,  oh  Lord,  that  his  life 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  113 

may  be  saved  !  Thou  gavest  him  to  me,  oh  Lord, 
save  him  for  me  if  Thou  wilt !  Oh  Lord,  if  Thou 
spare  his  life,  I  will  dedicate  him  to  Thee,  and  to  Thy 
cause.  I  have  siuued  against  Thee,  oh  Lord.  My 
sin  has  found  me  out.  Against  Thee,  oh  Lord,  Thee 
only  have  I  sinned.  Spare  my  boy  !  Spare  him,  oh 
Lord,  for  his  mother's  sake,  if  not  for  my  sake,  and 
as  1  offer  his  life  to  Thee,  oh  Lord,  spare  him  for 
Thy  own  glory." 

I  had  not  prayed  in  years  !  At  first  I  found  I  WHS 
not  on  speaking  terms  with  my  Maker.  A  life  of 
ease,  luxury,  and  indifference  had  made  me  forgetful 
of  Him,  who  watches  over  all  things.  When  my 
misery  brought  me  to  Him,  I  knew  not  how  to  pray. 
Finally,  I  kept  repeating  and  repeating  the  words 
that  came  to  me,  as  in  the  prayer  just  written,  and 
it  was  only,  after  hours  of  misery,  after  hours  of 
wrestling,  that  I  arose  and  felt  resigned  to  leave  to 
Him  the  out-come. 

"Thy  ways,  oh  Lord,  not  mine,  be  done!" 
I  looked  up  the  mother  !  She  had  known  how 
seriously  sick  he  was  even  the  night  before,  but  in  the 
practice  of  secretiveness,  and  the  unconscious  love  of 
secrecy,  she  Had  purposely  refrained  from  worrying 
me,  thinking  that  the  physican  we  had  was  doing  all 
he  could. 


114  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

And  I  found  the  mother  at  the  foot  of  my  boy's 
couch.  Her  face  set  and  hardened,  not  a  tear  in  her 
eyes,  and  our  boy  suffering  the  tortures  of  the 
damned. 

I  beckoned  to  her.  I  told  her,  with  eyes  suffused, 
how  great  the  danger  !  She  bowed  her  head.  She 
was  speechless.  In  desperation  we  sent  for  other 
physicians,  for  the  famous  surgeon,  Dr.  Bull,  who 
drove  up  in  his  brougham,  merely  looked  at  our  boy, 
repeated  what  we  had  been  told  before,  and  left. 

I  could  not  remain  in  the  room  and  witness  my 
child's  sufferings.  Several  times  when  partially 
conscious  he  called  for  me. 

"  Where  is  papa?  "  I  heard  him  say. 

I  would  be  in  the  next  room.     I  would  rush  in. 

" Papa,"  he  would  say,  "you  promised  me  a  pony 
pretty  soon.  Will  I  have  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  darling,"  I  would  answer,  and  off  he'd 
go.  A  few  moments  thereafter  he  would  open  his 
eyes,  and  exclaim ; 

"  Papa,  when  I  get  better,  you  told  me  you  would 
let  me  have  whatever  I  wanted  ! '' 

"Yes,  my  child,"  I  would  say.  In  another 
second  he  would  be  imagining  himself  on  his-  bicycle, 
with  two  or  three  other  bicycles  and  a  wagon  behind 
him.  He  working  away  for  dear  life,  pulling 


A   NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN.  115 

them  all  up  hill.  The  next  moment  he  would  give 
orders  to  James  (our  butler)  to  hurry  up  dinner, 
papa's  in  a  hurry!  Then  again  he  would  imagine  he 
was  at  school  reciting  his  lessons,  and  on  other 
occasions  he  would  be  telling  a  girl,  Margery,  to 
now  take  these  reins  and  hold  them  tight;  no  that  is 
not  the  way,  and  he  would  chide  her  and  tell  her 
girls  didn't  know  much,  and  all  the  time  his  breath 
would  come  in  quick,  sharp,  gasps,  and  his  heart 
would  be  plainly  neard  beating  like  unto  the  hard 
puffings  of  an  overworked  engine. 

As  I  think  of  those  hours  and  bring  to 
mind  this  death  bed  scene,  my  eyes  fill  with 
the  pent  up  tears  of  years.  Not  that  I 
could  sit  through  one -half  of  it.  His  misery 
seemed  to  drive  me  out  of  my  mind.  I  would  rush 
off  into  the  next  room,  throw  myself  face  downward 
on  my  bed,  and  there  moan  and  pray  and  beg  and 
beseech  my  Father  in  heaven  to  have  mercy,  to 
have  mercy  upon  his  mother  and  me,  and  through  it 
all.  for  full  thirty-six  hours,  his  mother  sat  motionless, 
quiet,  too  miserable  to  even  weep,  her  face  alone 
showing  the  agony  she  was  enduring,  and  only  once, 
a  few  minutes  before  his  last  gasp  do  I  remember 
her  jumping  up,  wringing  her  hands  and  exclaiming  : 

" Oh  God,  there  cant  be  a   God.     Why  should  he 


116  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

take  my  boy,  my  angel  darling?  He  has  never 
done  any  wrong  !  It  is  not  right  !  not  right !  not 
right!" 

In  another  chapter  way  off  at  the  commencement 
of  this  book,  I  spoke  of  my  not  believing  as  I  had 
believed,  and  I  had  better  say  right  here  in  great 
part  resultant  on  the  worship  I  had  for  my  wife, 
I  had  involuntarily  fallen  from  all  semblance  of 
•religion,  and  had  even  refrained  from  having  any  of 
my  children  baptized,  believing,  in  later  years  when 
they  had  arrived  at  man's  or  woman's  estate,  they 
could  choose  for  themselves  as  to  what  form  of 
religion,  if  any,  they  wished  to  follow. 

When  in  my  misery  I  cried  out  to  my  Maker,  I 
remembered  my  child  was  not  baptized.  Thinking 
in  later  years  I  might  possibly  return  to  my  old 
beliefs,  I  consulted  my  wife  as  to  sending  for  a 
minister.  She  consented.  He  was  baptized. 

A  few  minutes  thereafter  he  breathed  his  last,  and 
the  world  seemed  the  darker,  life  the  drearier,  and 
my  wife  and  I  the  most  miserable  beings  on  earth. 
And  when  his  mother's  grief  finally  gave  way,  I  for  a 
time,  feared  for  her  reason. 

In  his  conscious  moments  he  would  ask  his 
mamma  :  "Why  is  papa  crying  ?  "  and  as  she  did 
not  wish  him  to  see  her  doing  likewise,  she  had 


A   NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN.  117 

kept  back  her  tears,  and  only  at  the  very  last  did 
nature  give  way.  And  when  I  tried  to  console  her, 
and  she  to  comfort  me  !  ! ! 

Ah,  who  thought  in  those  days  the  loss  of  this 
very  child,  this  boy,  who  in  life  had  knit  us 
closer  together  would  be  conducive  to  severing  the 
ties  that  should  have  kept  us  twain  ONE  "  forever 
and  forever1? " 

And  when  she  put  her  hand  in  mine,  and  recalled 
some  of  his  baby  prattle,  and  when  one  of  my  sisters 
whose  life  was  devoted  to  the  child,  told  me  how  he 
had  always  gloried  in  the  love  of  his  father,  how  his 
PAPA  was  the  very  life  of  his  life,  and  how  she  tried 
to  console  me  by  telling  me  I  had  been  a  good,  a 
kind  father  to  him,  that  I  had  other  children  who 
needed  my  love  and  care,  ah  Alice,  it  was  only  after 
your  well  meant  words  and  sisterly  admonitions  that 
I  in  a  measure  regained  strength  to  face  the  every 
day  duties  of  life  again. 


CHAPTKR    XVIL 

Until  death  deprived  us  of  our  "  first-born," 
neither  my  wife  nor  I  knew  what  misery  was.  We 
had  lived,  but  we  had  not  suffered. 

Friends  of  ours  had  experienced  similar  afflictions. 
We  felt  sorry  for  them,  but  we  knew  not  how  deep 
their  sorrow. 

Our  trial  awoke  us. 

'Tis  not  all  of  life  to  live  ;     ") 
Not  all  of  death  to  die. 

Having  no  religion,  my  wife  could  find  no  comfort 
in  the  thought  of  meeting  our  boy  in  the  bright 
beyond. 

Time  passed;  and,  once  again  she  became  a 
mother. 

It  was  a  girl.     We  named  her  Beatrice. 

Boy's  death  the  more  firmly  settled  my  wife  in  her 
determination  to  have  no  more  children.  She  even 
once  went  so  far  as  to  assert  she  would  rather  die 
than  have  any  more. 

Well !  she  had  no  more. 

My  little  Enid,  in  a  measure,  took  Koy's  place 
with  me.  She  was  very  much  like  him.  At  the 
time  she  commenced  toddling,  he  would  guide  her ; 
and,  poor  boy !  he  seemed  so  fond  of  his  little 
sister.  Often,  jokingly,  I  would  have  her  pull  her 
"brozer's"  hair,  which  she  would  "grinningly  grab 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  119 

at,"  and  never  would  a  murmur  or  a  word  of 
objection  come  from  my  little  hero.  At  other  times 
I  would  say  "  Dodo  loves  only  papa.  Dodo  don't 
love  Roy,  does  she?"  And  the  little  man  would 
take  his  little  sweetheart  (as  he  called  her)  to  his 
arms,  he  would  press  her  close  to  his  heart,  her  head 
on  his  shoulder,  and  he  would  invariably  say : 

"Yes,  little  Dodo  loves  her  brozer  Roy,  doesn't 
she  ?  " 

And  a  remarkable  fact  it  was,  after  his  death,  Dodo 
would  never  permit  any  one  to  ever  give  her  Roy's 
chair.  They  both  had  similar  ones  which  we  kept  in 
our  dining  room  for  them,  Dodo's  just  a  little  bit 
different  from  Roy's,  but  with  a  difference  which 
was  hardly  perceptible.  But  this  little  tot  of  three 
invariably  knew  one  was  sacred  to  the  memory  of  her 
dear  good  brother,  and  to  this  day  she  still  remem 
bers  him  as  if  they  had  only  parted  yesterday. 

Well,  in  the  watching  and  care  of  my  other 
children,  and  in  the  love  and  worship  of  their 
mother,  I  found  plenty  to  take  up  such  time  as  I 
could  spare,  and  in  the  continued  close  relationship 
that  existed  between  Mr.  Nathan  and  myself,  (he 
was  with  ua  more  than  ever  after  we  moved  up 
town),  we  found  the  months  gliding  by,  the  years 


120  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

coining  and  going,  and  never  did  my  life  seem  more 
peaceful  or  serene. 

After  my  boy's  death  I  became  more  attentive  to 
the  serious  duties  of  life,  I  mixed  considerably  less 
in  society,  such  as  I  had  up  to  that  time  frequented, 
and  haunts  and  sets  that  had  in  a  measure  looked  upon 
me  as  upon  one  of  their  bright,  particular  stars,  saw 
but  little  of  me.  I  was  really  settling  down  to  the  deep 
realities,  and  consequent  serious  duties  of  this  world, 
when  like  a  flash  of  lightning  out  of  a  clear  sky,  a 
burst  of  thunder  in  the  midst  of  sunshine,  T  was  all 
of  a  sudden  awakened,  and  found  myself  in  misery 
second  to  that  only,  which  the  death  of  my  boy  had 
made  me  experience.  And  even  the  heart  rending 
loss  of  my  boy  was  possibly  not  felt  so  acutely,  so 
deeply  as  the  blow  that  came  next. 

It  was  about  the  end  of  June  189-,  when  on 
arriving  home  I  was  given  a  scrawl,  wherein  my  wife 
told  me  our  baby  having  a  quick  touch  of  summer 
complaint,  the  doctor  had  told  her  the  only  chance 
of  saving  its  life  was  to  take  it  at  once  to  the  seaside, 
that  she  in  consequence  had  gone  to  Manhattan 
Beach,  and  if  I  cared  to  follow,  to  bring  what  I 
thought  might  be  needed,  as  she  did  not  have  time 
to  carry  along  anything. 

As  fast  as  I  could  I  hurried  down  there,  and  on 


A    WEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  121 

inquiring  for  her,  found  her  in  the  parlor  of  the 
hotel,  her  face  the  picture  of  despair,  her  child  the 
image  of  death,  and  her  nurse  helpless  beside  her. 
The  look  my  wife  gave  me  was  enough  to  freeze  my 
soul  within  me. 

In  her  misery,  in  her  love  for  her  off-spring,  her 
very  eyes  seemed  to  say : 

"  And  this  comes  of  having  children." 

Oh  !  the  agony  of  those  next  few  hours,  of  the 
next  few  days,  of  the  weeks  that  followed  !  Our 
baby's  life  hung  on  a  shred.  When  I  saw  her  in  her 
mother's  arms,  she,  poor  woman,  the  embodiment  of 
misery,  my  child  appeared  as  lifeless  as  her  brother 
when  he  lay  in  his  coffin.  But  for  occasional  quick, 
sharp,  piercing  shrieks,  we  would  have  thought  the 
child  dead. 

Her  mother  had  held  her  in  her  arms  for  over  four 
hours,  and  was  so  dazed  she  had  not  even  secured 
a  room.  To  fetch  a  doctor,  hustle  the  mother 
and  child  up-stairs,  and  put  every  possible  means 
at  her  disposal,  was  but  the  work  of  a  few  minutes. 

Once  again  my  wife  and  I  sat  side  by  side,  facing 
the  "angel  of  death,"  and  only  thanks  to  an  excellent 
doctor,  although  primarily  thanks  to  unequaled 
devotion  and  nursing  such  as  I  hardly  deemed  my 
wife  capable  of,  our  childs'  life  was  saved,  and  the 


122  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

mother  saved  the  father  a  breavement  such  as  he 
could  hardly  have  again  undergone. 

While  down  at  the  beach,  where  I  hastily  brought 
my  entire  family,  Mr.  Nathan  wrote  us  he  had  been 
suddenly  taken  sick,  and  whereas  on  my  daily  trips 
to  the  city  I  only  once  found  time  to  call  on  him,  my 
wife  on  her  first  visit  managed  to  spare  him  a  few 
minutes  in  order  to  bring  him  some  flowers  and 
inquire  after  his  health. 

Recovering,  Mr.  Nathan  soon  joined  us,  and 
apparently  became  one  of  our  family.  Later  on,  I 
heard  guests  of  the  hotel  thought  he  appeared  more 
like  a  husband  than  I  did,  as  half  the  time  I  would 
either  be  absent,  or  when  there,  would  be  sitting 
alone  by  myself,  while  Mr.  Nathan,  if  not  prome 
nading  the  piazza  with  my  wife,  would  be  snugly 
ensconced  in  another  part  of  the  hotel,  assiduously 
entertaining  and  amusing  her. 

After  a  while  my  wife  thought  the  Berkshire  Hills 
would  benefit  her,  and  the  children  more  than  a 
continued  stay  at  the  Beach,  and  as  at  about  this 
time  Mr.  Nathan's  seven  year  old  boy  was  expected 
back  from  Europe,  he  proposed  my  wife  chaperone, 
and  look  after  his  sprosling,  and  the  boy's 
"Fraulein." 

Acquiescing,  and  seeing  them  safely   aboard  the 


A    KEW    ENGLAND    WOtfAtf.  123 

cars,  I  bid  my  wife  farewell,  intending  to  join  her 
within  a  few  weeks  thereafter. 

Mr.  Nathan,  in  the  meantime,  moved  his  quarters 
to  my  residence,  and  after  a  lapse  of  about  two 
weeks,  I  decided  on  joining  my  family.  I  intended 
stopping  at  Saratoga,  and  possibly  staying  there 
for  three  or  four  days,  but  agreed  to  meet  Mr. 
Nathan  in on  the  Saturday  following. 

Arrived  at  Saratoga,  and  finding  more  gayety 
there  than  I  cared  for,  and  really  longing  to  be  with 
my  wife  and  little  ones,  and  thinking  Edith  would 
be  delighted  to  have  me  join  her,  I  stopped  at 
Saratoga  for  one  night  only,  and  the  next  day- 
unannounced — arrived  in . 

Instead  of  the  customary  embrace,  which  after 
absences,  Edith  never  failed  to  greet  me  with,  on 
this  occasion  she  merely  bowed  her  head  on  seeing 
me,  and  as  I  subsequently  discovered,  felt  somewhat 
annoyed  to  be  thus  surprised,  whereas  she  had 
expected  Mr.  Nathan,  who  that  day  had  wired  her 
(it  was  Thursday)  he  would  arrive  that  night  instead 
of  Saturday. 

Although  noticing  her  coldness,  I  thought  nothing 
of  it,  although  when  Mr.  Nathan  arrived,  I  did  notice 
he  seemed  considerably  surprised,  and  I  particularly 
recollect  angering  my  wife  by  insisting  she  devote 


124  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

herself  to  me  and  my  company,  and  not  bother 
herself  concerning  our  friends  room  and  his  belong 
ings. 

Her  indifference  struck  me  to  the  heart.  We  had 
been  married  over  ten  years.  For  six  summers, 
I  remembered  she  had  gone  her  own  way;  I  mine. 
Although  repeatedly  asked  to,  I  never  up  to  that 
time  had  found  it  convenient  to  look  her  up  during 
her  absences,  and  in  this  particular  instance,  where 
for  the  first  time  I  did  so,  my  wife  seemed  to  be  not 
only  far  from  pleased,  but  positively  annoyed  at  my 
sudden  arival.  I  thought  I  would  giye  her  a  Roland 
for  her  Oliver.  I  would  appear  indifferent.  Worse  ! 
I  would  endeavor  to  arouse  her  jealousy.  So  I 
commenced  a  serious,  really  desparate  flirtation  with 
a  little  bit  of  a  young  woman  who  ordinarily  would 
not  have  attracted  me  at  all,  but  who,  knowing  my 
wife,  admired  her  very  much,  and  who,  notwithstand 
ing  my  apparent  preference  for  her  society,  will  bear 
me  out  that  most  of  our  talks  concerned  my  wife,  my 
admiration  and  love  for  her,  and  although  I  spoke  of 
her  coldness  and  indifference  to  me,  and  that  she 
did  not  seem  to  mind  what  I  did,  I  nevertheless 
convinced  my  listener  there  was  only  "  one  face  in 
the  world  that  I  loved." 

However !     My  attempt  to  arouse  jealousy  failed. 


A   NEW   ENGLAND   WOMAN.  125 

It  rather  had  the  opposite  effect !  My  wife  became 
indignant,  sarcastic,  and  to  the  young  lady  in 
question  positively  rude.  She  and  Mr.  Nathan  went 
off  by  themselves  for  long  walks,  and  I  devoted 
myself  to  the  young  lady,  and  although  nothing 
unpleasant  passed  between  us  up  to  the  day  on 
which  I  took  my  departure,  (my  wife  seeing  both 
Mr.  Nathan  and  me  to  the  depot),  on  parting, 
instead  of  her  lips,  only  offered  me  her  cheek.  1 
drew  back  and  she  merely  smiled! 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


Before  commencing  the  next  chapter,  I  must 
revert  to  a  matter  which  inadvertently  has  heretofore 
been  omitted. 

In  the  winter  preceding  the  events  narrated,  I  was 
taken  with  La  Grippe,  which,  culminating  in 
pneumonia;  my  life  was  at  one  time  despaired  of. 
My  wife  gave  me  the  best  of  care;  but,  as  Mr.  Nathan 
persisted  on  continuing  his  calls — he  came  daily — 
and  in  consequence  thereof,  Edith  had  to  give  him 
some  of  her  society,  I  really  began  to  dislike  his 
continual  presence,  although  I  was  not  rude  enough 
to  say  so. 

On  one  occasion  when  my  wife  was  out,  noticing 
some  flowers  that  were  in  the  room,  Edith's  mother 
asked  me  if  Mr.  Nathan  had  sent  them,  and  on  my 
saying  no;  but,  that  they  had  come  from  a  lady  friend, 
the  old  lady  said  she  was  thankful,  as  she  thought  Mr. 
Nathan  might  have  sent  them,  and  she  did  not  think 
I  ought  to  permit  him  to  be  around  so  much,  and 
still  less  permit  him  to  send  Edith  flowers  and  other 


A    WEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  127 

trifles  which  he  was  continually  doing.  I  remember 
smiling,  which  somewhat  nettling  the  old  lady, 
induced  her  to  say  : 

"  Well,  Robbie,  I  do  not  approve  of  his  coining 
and  you  ought  not  to  permit  it." 

"Don't  I  know  Edith,"  I  replied,  and  with  what 
supreme  confidence  I  spoke  ! 

"Oh  yes,  she  is  all  right,"  she  replied,  "  but  I  hate 
that  man,  with  his  long  nose." 

The  day  all  danger  was  past,  and  on  being 
congratulated  by  my  physician,  possibly  feeling  as 
all  convalescents  from  La  Grippe  are  said  to  feel — 
mean,  nasty,  weak  and  indifferent — I  remember 
saying  ; 

"  Well,  doctor,  I  am  sorry  I  did  not  die." 

On  his  laughingly  asking  me  why?    I  replied  : 

"Oh,  what's  the  good  of  living  ?  Life  is  nothing 
but  a  struggle.  I  have  now  arranged  all  my  affairs 
so  that  if  I  skipped  off,  my  business  would  continue, 
my  debts  would  be  paid,  and  my  life  being  heavily 
insured,  my  wife  would  be  rich  and  well  provided  for. 

Just  then  the  front  door  bell  rang,  and  I  heard  the 
well  known  click  of  Mr.  Nathan's  cane  in  our 
porcelain  umbrella  stand,  and  if  I  had  died,  I 
added,  my  successor,  who  is  down  stairs,  would  have 
been  sure  to  have  attended  my  funeral. 


128  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

The  first  afternoon  I  was  able  to  sit  up,  I  had 
arranged  to  have  Edith  dine  up  stairs  with  me.  Our 
waiter  had  just  set  the  table  near  my  lounge,  when 
as  usual,  although  on  this  occasion  we  did  not  expect 
him,  Mr.  Nathan  popped  in.  My  wife  at  once 
wanted  to  join  him  down  stairs.  Not  much  ! 

I  insisted  on  having  her  remain  with  me.  I 
politely  suggested  he  would  not  mind  dining  alone 
for  once.  He  took  the  hint !  Edith's  face  was  not 
the  most  pleasant  "  vis  a  vis  "  for  that  meal. 

The  next  day  she  told  me  Mr.  Nathan  had  not 
eaten  a  morsel.  That  he  did  not  like  to  eat  alone. 
Expressing  my  regrets,  I  said  "  Neither  does  your 
loving  husband." 


CHAPTER   XIX. 


On  returning  from ,  and  intending  to  have 

our  servants  give  the  house  a  thorough  cleaning, 
and  in  consequence  of  carpets  being  lifted,  some  of  the 
rooms  being  in  the  hands  of  painters  and  decorators, 
I  temporarily  took  a  suite  of  apartments  at  the  - 
house,  where  Mr.  Nathan  also  joined  me  for  a  short 
while. 

We  had  been  there  hardly  a  week,  when  he  told  me 
his  physician  had  advised  his  giving  up  all  business 
and  mental  labor,  and  in  consequence  he  thought  of 
going  to  his  boy,  who  was  with  my  wife  and  family. 
No  sooner  said  than  done ;  although  that  was 
absolutely  the  first  time  I  thought  possibly  the 
world  might  think  it  peculiar  for  him  to  be  so  much 
with  my  wife.  In  fact  I  spoke  of  it.  He  laughed. 
He  went. 

Left  alone,  I  rushed  into  the  enjoyment  of  life 
with  a  vim.  Nightly,  two  or  three  friends  would 
dine  or  sup  and  wine  with  me,  and  on  one  particular 


130  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

evening  I  remember  being  on  the  roof  garden  of  the 

Casino  with  a  very  old  friend  of  mine.  A  Mr.  B 

(an  old  gentleman)  passed,  accompanied  by  a  most 
beautiful  girl.  Being  a  relative  of  my  friends,  I 
asked  the  latter  if  the  young  lady  were  his  daughter. 

*'  Not  much,"  he  replied. 

Just  then  Mr.  B beckoned  us  and  we  joined 

him.  After  introducing  us  to  the  young  lady,  Mr. 

B was  temporarily  called  away.  His  absence 

unexpectedly,  lasted  over  an  hour.  On  his  return, 
considerably  the  worse  for  wine,  he  unguardedly 
admitted  he  might  have  hurried  back  somewhat,  but 
that  he  was  not  afraid  of  us,  etc.,  etc.  Getting 
rather  boisterous,  he  threw  down  the  gauntlet  in 
such  a  braggadocio  style  that  I  picked  him  up, 
particularly  as  the  young  lady  in  question  was 
nodding  to  me  with  her  eyes,  kicking  me  under  the 
table,  and  previous  to  his  return  had  admitted  he 
was  a  little  bit  too  fatherly  for  her 

Out  of  pure  love  of  mischief,  I  thought  I  would 
tantalize  the  old  man,  and  in  consequence,  proposed 
his  lady  and  I  take  a  drive  through  the  park, 
and  that  on  our  return  we  would  meet  him  and  my 
friend.  No  sooner  said  than  done.  She  and  I  went 
off.  It  was  a  lovely  moonlit  night,  and  after 
enjoying  the  delights  of  a  cosey  ride  to  Mi  St, 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  131 

Vincent  and  back,  I  arranged  to  take  the  young  lady 
the  following  day  to  the  Morris  Park  races. 

Spending  a  pleasant  afternoon,  we  stopped  at 
Claremont  for  dinner,  and  taking  her  to  her  home,  I 
arranged  to  have  her  lunch  with  me  the  next  day  at 
my  hotel.  After  luncheon  we  took  a  drive  through 
the  Park,  from  there  up  the  road  to  Washington 
Heights,  Fort  George,  and  the  West  End,  (the  most 
beautiful  part  of  Manhattan  Island),  and  on  our 
return  stopped  at  the  Casino,  in  the  Park.  There 
we  came  across  Mr.  B . 

No  sooner  espieing  us,  and  being  invited  to  join  us 
at  dinner,  (which  he  refused),  he  undertook  to  tell 
us  he  was  through  with  the  young  lady;  he  had  not 
thought  she  would  throw  him  over  as  she  had ;  we 
were  two  of  a  kind,  etc.,  etc.,  until  becoming  rather 
personal,  I  undertook  to  tell  him,  in  the  presence  of 
the  young  lady,  I  would  permit  no  further  talk  of  the 
kind  he  was  indulging  in. 

He  bad  no  sooner  left  than   the  young  lady  said  : 

"  He  will  now  go  to  the  roof  garden  and  tell  all  his 
and  my  friends  he  has  shook  me,  and  I  would  really 
like  to  show  them  that  I  am  the  one  that  shook 
him." 

Nothing  loathe,  hardly  considering  how  fool-hardy 
a  thing  I  was  doing,  I  drove  to  my  hotel,  donned 


132  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

another  suit,  and  hastened  with  her  to  the  very  spot 
where  two  nights  before  we  had  met. 

As  expected,  he  was  there  !  Also  a  number  of 
his  and  her  friends,  not  to  speak  of  the  many  that 
knew  me. 

The  old  man's  face  blanched  when  he  saw  us  alight 
from  our  cab,  and  whereas  shortly  afterwards  he  was 
seen  on  the  roof,  it  seemed  as  if  he  was  only  brought 
there  by  chums  and  confreres,  whose  special  mission 
it  seemed  to  be  to  point  us  out  to  him,  and  tease, 
nudge,  and  joke  him  about  it. 

The  following  day  I  met  the  friend  who  had  been 
the  means  of  our  introduction. 

"  My  God,  Rob,  what  have  you  done  ?  Mr.  B 

is  wild,  he  is  almost  out  of  his  mind.  You  have 
made  him  the  laughing  stock  of  the  town.  He  is 
almost  ashamed  to  be  seen  any  more  at  the  Casino. 
He  swears  he  will  get  even  with  you.  He  is  going 
to  send  detectives  to  your  wife,  and  is  going  to  tell 
her  all  about  it." 

I  smiled ! 

"  Julius,"  I  said,  "  if  he  sent  all  the  detectives  in 
the  world,  do  you  know  what  my  wife  would  say1? 
Whatever  my  husband  does  is  right.  Such  is  her 
faith  in  me." 

Ah  fool,  fool   that  I  was !     Such  rather  was  my 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  133 

faith  in    her.     How    little   I   koew   or   understood 
her. 

Mr.  Nathan  was  all  this  time  with  my  family,  and 
returned  to  town  about  September  sixth. 

Of  all  the  temptations,  insidious,  invidious, 

Contrived  by  the  devil  for  pulling  men  down. 

There  are  none  so  seducive,  abusive,  delusive, 

As  the  snares  for  a  man  with  his  wife  out  of  town. 

He  feels  such  delightfulness,  stay  out  all-nightfulness, 

may  I  get  tightfulneas, 
Which  none  can  explain. 

His  wife  may  be  beautiful,  tender  and  dutiful, 
"Us  not  that  her  absence  can  cause  him  delight, 
But  the  cursed  opportunity ,  baneful  immunity, 
Scatters  his  scruples  as  day  scatters  night. 


CHAPTER   XX. 


My  wife  returned  home  September  10th.  I  had 
written  her  to  do  so  a  week  before  that,  but  as  she 
seemed  anxious  to  prolong  her  absence,  I  acquiesced. 
Then  when  the  week  was  up,  she  still  wanted  to 
remain  away,  and  only  on  my  finally  telegraphing — 
Come  home  without  fail  to-day — did  she  do  so. 

I  met  her  at  the  depot.  Mr.  Nathan  was  also 
there — in  his  hand  a  handsome  boquet. 

She  arrived  rather  late  at  night,  and  after  greeting 
me — no  more  cordially  than  she  did  him — I  took  up 
my  children  one  by  one,  and  finally  embracing  little 
Enid,  who  was  shivering  and  scared  at  the  unwonted 
noises,  we  entered  our  carriage  and  made  for 
home. 

For  what  reason  I  know  not,  but  in  house  cleaning 
a  brass  bed  stead,  which  usually  was  in  an  adjoining 
room,  had  been  moved  into  our  bed  room,  and 
thinking  if  my  wife  continued  as  cold  and  indifferent 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN..  1 

as  she  had  been,  I  might  make  use  of  the  extra  bed 
myself,  I  permitted  it  to  remain  in  our  room  until 
after  she  returned.  Greeting  me  as  she  had,  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  occupy  it,  when,  what  was  my 
surprise  on  entering  the  room,  after  having  remained 
in  my  library  for  the  best  part  of  the  evening,  to  find 
my  wife  ensconced  in  the  bed  in  question.  I  said 
nothing,  but  wishing  her  a  pleasant  good  night  and 
thinking  she  was  tired,  I  went  to  sleep.  The  next 
evening  the  same  thing  repeated  itself.  I  remember 
then  saying: 

"  Young  .woman,  you  got  ahead  of  me.  In  conse 
quence  of  your  indifference,  I  left  that  bed  here  for 
myself." 

Smiling,  she  replied  : 

"  Well,  so  I  did  get  ahead  of  you  for  once  in  my 
life,  did  I?" 

After  this  sort  of  thing  had  repeated  itself  the 
next  night,  I  thought  it  was  time  to  have  an  under 
standing,  and  asking  my  wife  as  to  her  reasons,  she 
replied  : 

"  I  will  give  none  ;  but,  as  we  have  now  been  mar 
ried  over  ten  years,  I  do  not  see  why  you  and  I  should 
live  other  than  as  rich  Europeans  do  ;  and,  as  I  want 
no  more  of  a  family,  I  have  made  up  my  mind — " 

"  To  what  ?  "  I  queried. 


136  A     NEW     ENGLAND     WOMAN. 

"  To  live  with  you  hereafter,  if  you  wish  it,  but 
not  as  a  wife. 

I  do  not  know  what  then  possessed  me.  I 
certainly  lost  my  temper;  and.  although  I  never 
before  had  even  an  unpleasant  word  with  my  wife, 
I  became  all  of  a  sudden,  sarcastic,  bitter  and 
acrid. 

I  talked  to  her  as  I  had  never  talked  before.  I 
told  her  I  had  been  too  easy-going  for  years, 
and  that  few  men  would  have  tamely  permitted 
what  I  had  countenanced  for  so  long  ;  and  finally 
I  wound  up  by  exclaiming ; 

"Well !  let  me  tell  you  it  will  not  suit  me.  I  am 
married,  and  not  married  !  Know  now,  then,  that 
there  is  not  a  man  in  New  York  City  who  is  known 
more  extensively  than  your  husband.  And  do  you 
think  I  care  to  live  this  way  forever  ?  If  you  have 
grown  tired  of  me,  say  so  !  But  all  these  many 
years  have  I  put  up  with  indifference,  because  I 
loved  you ;  because  my  love  for  you,  and  my 
children,  induced  me  to  put  up  with  it,  more  as 
as  a  matter  of  duty,  than  because  I  cared  to 
do  it ;  and,  if  things  do  not  change  soon,  I 
certainly  will  make  a  change  myself." 

One  remark  awakened  an  echo  within  her. 

"  Yes ;    I   have   heard   of    your   being    the    best 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAtf.  13? 

known  man  about  town,  and  among  women." 

They  were  the  very  words  Mr.  Nathan  had  a  few 
days  before  that  used  to  me.  Deliberately,  slowly  he 
had  been  instilling  a  deadly  poison  into  my  mind, 
and  given  me  an  opinion  about  myself  such  as  I  had 
never  previously  entertained !  Had  he  been 
instilling  the  same  foul  thoughts  into  my 
wife's  mind?  I  dismissed  the  proposition. — It 
returned  to  'me  later  with  ten  times  the 
persistency. 

I  turned  over  and  went  to  sleep.  The  next 
morning  neither  of  us  spoke.  Thinking  I  would 
teach  a  lesson  and  brin^  my  wife  to  her  senses,  I 
purposely  staid  out  to  dinner,  and  came  home 
late  at  night.  Few  words  were  spoken  the  next 
morning.  In  the  evening  I  proposed  we  visit  a 
theatre.  Although  seemingly  indifferent,  she  accom 
panied  me.  After  the  theatre  to  supper. 

On  our  way  home,  I  thought  (as  she  was  so  very 
pleasant  and  lively)  our  spat  was  over,  she  would 
change  her  tactics.  Not  so !  Arrived  home  she 
again  made  use  of  the  brass  bedstead.  Telling  her 
if  this  sort  of  life  was  going  to  continue,  I  would 
prefer  to  have  the  bedstead  moved  into  the  front 
room,  to  which  she  replied;  very  well;  I  went 
to  sleep. 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 


The  next  day  I  found  the  front  sitting  room  had 
been  turned  into  a  bed  room,  and  the  objectionable 
brass  bedstead  had  been  taken  there.  In  no 
way  angry,  I  joked  her  about  her  literally  taking 
up  everything  I  said.  She  joked  in  reply.  I  then 
asked  her  to  sit  on  the  same  sofa  with  me  !  I  wished 
to  talk  to  her  !  On  her  complying,  I  commenced  to 
reason  with  her.  She  was  adamant.  I  said,  "  Edith, 
you  cannot  mean  to  continue  this  sort  of  life."  She 
turned  ice  !  I  used  every  argument  I  was  capable 
of.  All  had  no  effect.  I  said  : 

"  Well  if  you  really  mean  this,  I  will  leave  you  and 
find  enjoyment  elsewhere." 

"Do  as  you  choose,''  was  her  reply. 

Without  another  word  I  left  the  house.  I  walked 
the  streets  for  an  hour.  Then  bethinking  myself,  and 
hoping  my  wife  had  come  to  her  senses,  I  sat  down  in 
the  -  hotel  reading-room,  and  indicted  a  letter 
wherein  I  told  her  how  miserable  I  was,  wherein 
I  begged  her  to  reconsider  her  decision  and 
telling  her  she  could  do  as  she  wanted  to,  I 
would  not  want  her  to  change  at  once,  but  I  merely 
did  want  her,  before  driving  me  out  of  my  home,  to 
promise  she  would  do  her  best,  to  try  and  be 
different.  Despatching  the  messenger,  I  awaited  her 
reply.  It  was  as  follows  ; 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 


139 


DEAR  ROBERT. 

I  do  not  wish  to  drive  you  out  of  your  own  home,  and  I 
do  not  wish  to  pain  you.  I  have  only  made  up  my  mind  on 
an  old  subject;  and  I  think  you  act  very  foolishly. 

Yours, 

EDITH. 

For  fully  an  hour  I  awaited  her  answer.  For  fully 
two  hours  I  pondered  over  her  reply.  It  cut  me  to 
the  quick.  I  had  neither  the  heart  for  amusement 
or  pleasure.  I  visited  a  Russian  bath,  and  there 
spent  the  night.  The  next  morning  I  reached  the 
house  early,  and  on  awakening  my  wife,  asked  her 
how  she  liked  being  alone.  I  forget  her  reply.  We 
breakfasted  and  she  acted  as  if  nothing  out  of  the 
ordinary  had  happened.  I  remained  home  the  entire 
day,  feeling  too  miserable  to  go  to  my  office,  ancf  after 
luncheon  on  her  preparing  to  go  out  and  asking  her 
whither  she  was  bound,  she  told  me  it  was  none  of 
my  business. 

Things  went  on  in  this  way  for  two  or  three  days 
longer,  (Mr.  Nathan  coming  nightly,  noticing  our 
strained  relations,  but  not  having  the  delicacy 
to  absent  himself),  until  finally  one  Sunday  I  told 
my  wife  I  had  made  up  my  mind  if  she  persisted  in 
her  course;  to  leave  her,  and  that  whereas  I  would 
provide  for  her  and  my  children,  I  could  not  continue 


140  A   NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

a  life    such   as   she   was   evidently  anxious  to  have 
me  submit  to, 

That  very  day,  her  mother  happening  in  town, 
called  on  us,  and  a  great  deal  of  private  talk, 
whispering,  and  plotting  seemed  to  take  place 
'twixt  her  and  Edith. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 


The  next  morning,  having  packed  my  trunk  over 
night,  I  called  my  wife  and  asking  her  if  she  was 
willing  to  have  me  leave,  and  in  consequence 
eventually  break  up  our  home,  she,  although 
bursting  into  tears,  exclaimed  : 

"  You  know  best,  I  can't  promise  anything,  and 
I  won't." 

"Edith  dear,"  I  said,  "  promise  this  much.  I 
ask  nothing  more,  promise  that  you  will  try,  try  to  be 
different.  It  is  all  I  ask,  but  I  cannot  continue  this 
sort  of  life,  and  live  face  to  face  with  you,  and  have 
you  tell  me  you  will  never  change. 

"  I  cannot  do  it.  Why  was  I  born  ?  I  am  all 
wrong  anyhow,"  she  exclaimed. 

Thinking  she  would  yield,  and  not  having  the 
heart  to  order  my  butler  to  carry  my  trunk  to  the 
cab  which  was  then  waiting,  I  said  : 

"  Well,  order  James  to  carry  my  trunk  down." 
Drying  her  tears,  she  gave  the  order. 


142  A   NEW   ENGLAND   WOMAN. 

Kissing  her  good  bye,  I  jumped  into  the  cab, 
and  directing  the  driver  to  go  to  the  Imperial, 
I  asked  for  a  suite  of  rooms,  hastily  unpacked, 
and  went  to  my  office. 

When  night  on  came  I  felt  lonesome,  miserable, 
as  miserable  as  I  thought  I  ever  could  feel.  But 
I  knew  not  what  the  future  had  in  store. 

After  dinner  (and  almost  unable  to  restrain  myself) 
I  wrote  the  following  letter,  which  two  days  there 
after  I  found  on  top  of  my  wife's  desk,  where  any 
and  everybody  might  have  read  it. 

DEAB  EDITH. 

The  only  excuse  that  I  can  frame  for  you  is  that  you 
know  not  what  you  do.  I  did  not  mean  to  write  you  until 
you  called  me  home,  but  if  that  day  is  never  to  come;  end  my 
suspense  by  telling  me  so  at  once.  You  know  nothing  in  the 
world  can  bring  me  back  unless  you  write  me  you  so  wish  it.  Please 
do  not  smile  and  think  because  I  have  been  weak,  I  can  no 
longer  be  as  firm  as  I  should  be,  and  before  you  reply,  weigh 
your  answer  well.  I  am  not  writing  at  random,  but  seriously, 
and  in  earnest !  The  hardest  blow  I  ever  received  is  the  one  I 
am  now  laboring  under.  Were  I  to  blame,  I  would  ask 
nothing  of  you,  but  you  know  I  am  not.  The  trouble  your 
baby  this  summer  gave  you,  has  probably  been  deeper  than  I 
dreamed  of.  To  it,  I  attribute  your  unsettled  state.  You  had 
a  great  deal  to  bear  then,  and  I  see  it  has  affected  you.  Do 
not  bring  more  troubles  on  yourself,  your  children,  or  on  me  ! 
For  the  last  time,  be  a  woman,  a  wife,  and  my  angel !  Love 
such  as  mine  never  dies.  I  have  tried  my  best  to  keep  from 
saying  this,  but  my  pen  involuntarily  gives  utterance  to  my 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 


heart's  thoughts.  At  the  same  time,  I  can  no  more  live  with 
you  as  you  icifth  it,  than  you  could  as  deeply  wrong  anybody 
else,  as  you  have  wronged  me.  Death  alone  did  I  think  would 
ever  part  us,  and  when  it  came,  I  had  hoped  your  hand 
would  be  in  mine,  09  it  was  in  our  boy's.  Edith,  think,  think, 
what  you  are  doing  !  My  eyes  are  full  of  tears.  Where  you 
are  concerned,  I  am  weak,  but  you  know  I  am  right  and  you 
know  you  are  wrong.  You  need  not  tell  me  you  are  sorry,  but 
ask  me  to  come  home 

Your, 

ROBERT. 

This  letter  I  mailed. 

No  answer  reached  me  the  following  day,  and  feel 
ing  well  nigh  disconsolate,  I  then  sent  Mr.  Nathan 
word  to  come  and  see  me.  He  did  so  at  once.  He 
found  me  in  the  dining  room.  His  first  words  were  : 

"Where  is  Edith?" 

"Home,"  I  replied.  "Did  you  not  know  I  live 
here,  that  I  left  the  house  1  " 

"Are  you  crazy?  "  he  exclaimed. 

On  my  assuring  him  I  was  perfectly  sane,  he  went 
on  to  say  : 

"  I  Was  at  the  house  last  night.  Edith  received  me. 
I  asked  her  where  you  were.  She  replied  evasively  : 
We  then  sat  down  and  played  cards  until 
about  eleven  and  on  leaving,  I  thought  you  possibly 
had  business  keeping  you." 

"And  how  did  she  appear?  Naturally?  Com 
fortably?" 


144  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

"  Why,  yes,"  he  replied.  "  She  beat  me  at  several 
games  last  night,  and  did  not  speak  of  you  at  all." 

Miserable  as  I  was,  I  then  made  the  one  mistake 
of  my  life.  I  unbosomed  myself  to  mine  enemy.  I 
told  him  everything.  I  told  him  what  had  occured, 
even  what  I  had  written." 

"  And  what  answer  did  she  give  ?  " 

"  None,"  I  replied. 

"I  will  go  up  and  see  her  !  " 

"  I  do  not  think  your  doing  so  will  do  any  good," 
I  replied. 

"Well,  it  cannot  do  any  harm,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
can  ask  for  a  reply  to  your  letter,  anyhow." 

"  All  right,"  says  I. 

He  had  no  sooner  closed  my  door  when  impulse 
prompted  me  to  call  him  back-  I  restrained  myself. 
A  few  minutes  thereafter  I  commenced  packing, 
meaning  to  return  to  my  home  anyhow. 

No  sooner  was  my  trunk  locked,  than  pride 
asserted  itself.  If  I  give  in  now,  I  thought,  I  will 
never  be  master  again. 

I  waited ! 

The  minutes  seemed  hours;  the  hours,  days! 

Nathan  left  me  at  eight  o'clock.  He  returned 
near  midnight. 

His  first  words  were  :     "  It  is  all  up  !     You  might 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 


145 


as  well  make  up  your  mind  now  as  at  any  time.  You 
have  lost  your  wife.  I  believe  if  you  went  to  her 
with  pistol  in  hand,  threatening  to  blow  out  your 
brains  unless  she  re-called  you,  blow  out  your  brains 
you  would.  Your  wife  would  remain  as  she  is, 
impassive,  dead,  indifferent:' 

He  then  went  on  to  tell  me  on  first  announcing 
himself,  and  entering  the  parlor,  my  wife,  after  a 
few  minutes  delay,  appeared  and  said  ; 

"  This  is  something  of  a  surprise,  Mr.  Nathan." 
" Edith,"  he  replied,  "I   have   just  come  from  the 
'Imperial.?? 

"  Well  ?  "  was  all  she  volunteered. 
"I  have  come  from  Robert." 
"And?"  she  ventured. 

"  He  is  almost  beside  himself.  He  wrote  you  a 
letter,  which  you  have  not  replied  to." 

"  Oh,  yes  I  have,  I  did  not  feel  well  enough  to  do 
so  when  I  received  it,  but  I  did  so  immediately  after 
dinner.  Had  I  known  you  were  coming,  I  would 
have  held  it,  but  as  it  happens,  it  was  mailed  almost 
an  hour  ago." 

"Well,  what  did  you  write?  Tell  me  so  I  can 
carry  its  contents  to  him." 

"  Mr  Nathan,"  she  replied,  "  I  can  hardly  enter 
into  matters  of  this  kind  with  you," 


146  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

"But,  ray  dear  Edith,"  I  said,  "  you  cannot  want  to 
drive  Eobert  to  destraction,"  and  he  then  went  on  to 
tell  me  he  had  argued  and  talked  with  her  for  hours. 
She  remained  immovable.  He  finally  wound  up  by 
telling  her  to  think  about  the  children,  that  as  a 
woman  of  family,  she  had  nD  right  to  force  me  to 
live  apart  from  her;  if  she  contemplated  leaving 
me,  she  should  have  done  so  years  ago,  not  now, 
and  that  to  his  knowledge,  I  had  changed  wonder 
fully  during  the  last  few  years,  particularly  since 
Boy's  death,  and  since  he  (Mr.  Nathan)  had  made 
it  his  business,  on  her  account,  to  come  up  so  much 
to  entertain  me,  in  order  to  keep  me  home  with 
her,  and  make  her  happier.  (Ah  !  the  sophism,  the 
irony  of  this  devil's  remarks)  ! 

"What  did  you  want  to  say  that  for?"  I  exclaimed. 

"What  did  I  want  to  say  it  for?"  he  replied. 
"  You  might  as  well  know  now  as  at  any  time,  Rob, 
that  I  think  a  great  deal  of  Edith,  and  I  really  did 
say  what  I  did  without  thinking,  hoping  it  would 
bring  her  to  her  senses — but  as  it  is;  she  says  she 
sne  has  written  you,  you  will  get  her  letter 
to-morrow,  and  then  you  will  know  what  to  do.'' 

1  threw  myself  on  my  couch,  but  little  sleep  did  I 
find.  It  must  have  been  about  four  in  the  morning 
when  I  was  awakened. 


A   NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN.  147 

I  had  dreamed  a  horrible  dream ! 

Diseased  as  my  mind  was,  affected  as  it  had  been 
for  the  week  or  ten  days  which  had  just  passed,  I 
had  fancied  my  wife  and  I  had  become  separated  in 
some  way.  We  were  out  on  the  ocean.  The  waves 
beat  around  and  about  us.  I  could  distinctly  see 
them  in  their  mad  rage,  rushing  over  and  over  each 
other,  now  mountain  high,  then  breaking  against 
each  other  and  falling  apart,  the  wind  roaring, 
blowing  a  perfect  hurricane !  All  of  a  sudden  there 
was  a  smash — a  crash !  I  apparently  lost  conscious 
ness  !  When  I  awakened  and  looked  for  my  wife,  I 
could  not  find  her  !  I  hunted  high  and  low.  She 
was  invisible  !  My  dream  was  interrupted—  then  I 
dreamed  I  was  in  a  dark  room,  a  form  was  lying  on 
a  table  all  covered  up.  Somebody  lifted  the 
sheet,  under  it,  was  the  face  of  my  wife. 

I  awoke  with  a  shriek !  Never  in  my  life  had  I 
dreamed  so  horrible  a  dream  !  My  own  cry  awoke 
me  !  My  hair  was  literally  standing  on  end.  I  was 
in  a  sea  of  perspiration  ! ! ! 

All  dressed  as  I  was, (I  was  positively  wet  through 
andthroughjl  had  to  take  off  every  stitch  of  clothing, 
and  after  plunging  into  my  bath  and  re-dressing 
myself,  I  locked  my  trunk,  called  for  my  bill, 
and  jumping  into  a  cab,  I  was  soon  on  my  way 


148  A   NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

home.  I  reached  there  just  as  my  man  was  about 
opening  the  front  door. 

After  entering  our  library,  one  of  the  first  things 
my  eyes  alighted  on  was  my  letter. 

I  tapped  on  my  wife's  door.  She  opened !  Not  a 
word  did  she  say. 

c<  So  you  see  I  am  home,"  I  exclaimed,  at  the  same 
time  making  an  attempt  to  smile. 

"  I  see  you  are,"  she  said.  "  Did  you  receive  my 
letter  ? " 

"  No,"  I  replied. 

"I  do  not  think  you  would  have  come  home,  if  you 
had." 

"  What  did  you  write?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Well,  you  had  better  send  for  the  letter." 

I  told  her  I  had  left  word  with  the  hotel  people  to 
send  it  up  by  special  messenger. 

We  went  to  breakfast.  After  what  Mr.  Nathan 
had  told  me,  I  was  almost  afraid  to  re-enter  my  own 
house.  Once  there,  it  seemed  so  cosey,  so  comfor 
table,  that  when  we  went  down  to  breakfast,  I 
was  glad  I  was  home  again — even  if  home  was  not 
home. 

At  breakfast,  I  could  not  help  but  notice:  My  wife 
had  always  laid  every  extravagance  and  all  love  of 
good  eating  and  drinking  to  me.  We  always 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

breakfasted  alone — our  children  much  earlier — here 
I  had  been  away  for  three  days,  certainly  was  not 
expected  home  that  morning,  and  yet  my  wife  had  a, 
regular  course  breakfast,  consisting  of  grapes, 
oatmeal,  scollops,  a  porterhouse-steak,  potatoes, 
coffee  and  hot  rolls.  There  was  Darlington  butter  at 
one  dollar  a  pound,  and  at  least  a  three  pound  porter 
house-steak,  and  it  struck  me  if  my  wife  did  feel 
badly,  her  appetite  remained  fairly  good. 

After  the  meal,  I  lay  in  the  front  room  dozing.  I 
must  have  just  about  fallen  asleep,  when  my  little 
Enid  awoke  me,  crying  "  Papa,  papa,  here  is  a 
letter  !  I  opened  it;  it  was  from  my  wife,  it  read  as 
follows : 

ROBEUT. 

I  do  not  see  the  use  of  further  discussion  in  regard  to  the 
present  situation.  I  had  decided  before  you  left  the  house 
and  I  have  not  changed  in  any  way  since,  nor  shall  I  ever. 

EDITH. 

This  in  answer  to  a  letter  wherein  I,  the  master, 
had  begged  the  woman  to  write  me  to  come  home. 

I  was  heart  broken  !  I  had  been  stung  before ;  I 
had  been  hurt,  but  this  blow  dealt  me  when  I  was 
only  half  awake,  and  being  deliberately  sent  by  my 
little  angel  of  a  daughter,  cut,  cut  right  into  my 
heart. 


150  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

Letter  in  hand,  I  rushed  into  the  next  room.  I 
went  to  my  wife,  who  was  sitting  at  the  window 
sewing.  I  fell  on  my  knees,  my  arms  around  her 

• 

waist,  and   with   tears   streaming  down   my  face,  I 
cried  ; 

"Edith,  child,  wife,  what  have  I  done?  " 
I  was  so  hysterical,  I  was  so  unnerved  that  I 
really  affected  her.  I  appealed  to  the  memories  of 
the  past,  I  spoke  of  our  dead  children,  of  those  that 
were  living.  I  know  I  completely  won  her  /  She 
put  her  face  next  to  mine.  She  wiped  away  my 
tears,  she  kissed  me  on  my  forehead,  and  I  am 
convinced  to  this  day,  if  ever  a  woman  relented,  if  ever 
a  woman  meant  to  take  up  the  duties  of  life,  my  wife 
then  did.  Luncheon  was  announced.  I  told  her  I 
cared  for  none.  She  begged  me  to  come  down.  She 
told  me  I  had  eaten  no  breakfast,  (she  had  evidently 
watched  me)  that  I  would  have  to  eat  something. 
She  persuaded  me  to  go  down  stairs.  After  luncheon 
we  talked  quietly,  pleasantly  until  about  three  o'clock, 
when  she  all  of  a  sudden  recollected  she  had  to  go 
out.  I  staid  home  amusing  my  little  ones. 

My  wife  was  gone  inordinately  long.  Dinner  was 
waiting  for  over  an  hour  before  she  returned.  When 
she  sat  down  to  the  table,  I  knew  something  had 
happened.  That  same,  set,  hard  look  that  I  had  so 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 


151 


often  seen  on  her  face  of  late,  was  again  there.     We 
ate  our  dinner  in  silence.     After  coffee  was  served,  I 
visited  the  library.     She   remained  below.     After  a 
vain  attempt  at  reading,  I  entered  my  room.     It  was 
about  nine  o'clock. 
"  Edith,"  I  called. 
"  What  is  it  ?"  she  replied. 

"  Come  up  stairs  here,  dear,  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 
She  came  ! 

•'  Sit  down  here  beside  me,"  I  said. 
"I  prefer  not  to,"  she   replied,  at    the    same  time 
nervously  walking  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  I  want  to   have   an   understanding,  dear,  and   I 
cannot  talk  if  you  keep  on  walking. 

She  stood  still.     She  refused  to  sit  down. 
"Edith,  dear,"  I   commenced,   "tell  me  what  has 
happened ;  what  have  I  done  that  you  should  be  so 
indifferent  ?  " 
No  reply  ! 

"  Why  do  you  act  so  ?  " 
No  answer  ! 

"Tell    me   what   there   is;  I   must   certainly  have 
done  something  for  you  to  feel  and  act  as  you  do." 
"  You  have  done  enough  !  "  she  answered. 
"  Well,  tell  me  just  one  thing" 
"I  do  not  care  to  discuss  the  matter  any  further, 


152  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

and  now,  to  let  you  understand  me  aright,  since  you 
have  coine  home,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  leave  ! 
Now  I  want  to  know  what  you  will  do,  whether  you 
will  take  a  flat  for  me  and  the  children,  or  whether 
you  will  leave  me  this  house  and  provide  for  me, 
as  I  have  made  up  my  mind  and  nothing  will 
change  me." 

I  tried  to  reason  with  her,  and,  she  having  again 
resumed  her  walking,  I  reached  out  for  her,  caught 
her  by  the  wrist  and  firmly  holding  her  for  a  minute, 
tried  to  have  her  tell  me  what  had  brought  all  this 
about.  Claiming  I  was  hurting  her,  I  released  her, 
and  having  stood  about  as  much  as  my  unsettled 
state  would  permit,  I  broke  down.  She  kept  on 
walking,  never  saying  a  word.  After  I  had  become 
somewhat  quieted,  I  asked  her  : 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,  Edith  !     Do  you  hate  me  ?  " 
She  stopped  her  walk  !     She  hesitated  !     Finally, 
looking  me  squarely  in  the  eye,  she  nodded  her  head 
and  in  almost  a  whisper  said  : 


Oh!  Oh!  the  misery!  I  collapsed  like  a  broken 
reed.  The  iron  had  entered  my  soul. 

I  saw  my  whole  life  had  been  a  delusion,  my  house 
was  built  on  sand,  and  I  felt  the  waves  rushing  up 
and  engulfing  me.  I  fell  as  if  struck  by  a  thunder- 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  153 

bolt.  When  I  had  in  a  measure  regained  my 
composure,  I  remember  saying  ; 

"All  right,  that  is  all  I  wanted  to  know.  Leave  the 
room !  I  cannot  breathe  the  same  air  with  you." 

I  sat  where  I  had  fallen  for  hours.  I  finally  called 
her  to  me,  and  on  her  coming  into  my  room,  I  said : 

"  Now  I  understand  !  For  our  children's  sake  let 
us  keep  up  appearances,  you  can  occupy  the  front,  I 
will  use  this  room,  and  I  will  see  between  now  and 
the  next  week  or  two  as  to  what  I  can  do,  and  will 
then  talk  further  with  you." 

The  next  morning  I  was  unable  to  get  out  of  bed. 
My  life  had  been  crushed.  Something  seemed  to 
have  snapped.  I  lacked  strength.  I  sent  for  my 
physician.  He  found  me  utterly  prostrated.  My 
nerves  had  given  way.  I  was  as  weak  as  a  child. 
He  was  puzzled.  He  said  something  must  have 
happened.  What  is  it  ?  I  confided  in  him. 
Knowing  me  for  almost  twenty  years,  he  understood 
me  pretty  thoroughly.  He  said  : 

"I  am  awfully  sorry  Mr,  F ,  but  keep  quiet, 

keep  calm.  Do  not  rasp  your  wife.  Let  her  go  her 
way,  you  go  yours.  I  have  never  before  met  with  a 
woman  like  your  wife,  but  in  our  practice  we  are 
apt  to  occasionally  hear  of  them.  You  do  not  think 
she  cares  for  any  one  else  ?  " 


154  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

"  Certainly  not,"  I  said. 

"  Well  she  is  an  anomaly.  Among  all  my  many 
patients,  I  have  often  (without  mentioning  names) 
spoken  of  you  and  your  wife,  as  to  how  happy  you 
seemed,  what  a  beautiful  home  you  had,  how  you 
were  continually  bettering  your  condition,  and  I 
cannot  help  but  think,  your  wife  will  eventually  come 
around  all  right." 

He  said  furthermore,  he  would  talk  to  her  on  his 
way  out,  and  tell  her  what  to  do  for  me. 

He  had  not  been  gone  long,  before  (without  any 
unnecessary  words  and  yet  with  much  of  her  old 
accustomed  gentleness)  my  wife  joined  me,  and 
after  administering  my  medicines,  at  about  luncheon 
time,  begged  me  very  hard  to  partake  of  something 
which  she  would  send  up.  In  the  afternoon  she 
went  out  as  usual. 

The  next  day  I  attended  my  business,  but  I  could 
only  give  it  attention  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way,  my 
thoughts  continually  reverting  to  the  domestic 
affliction  I  was  laboring  under. 

The  next  Sunday,  my  'physician  popped  in,  and 
taking  me  aside,  said  he  had  purposely  come  in  to 
see  how  matters  stood.  On  my  telling  him  that  my 
wife  had  that  very  morning  asked  me  as  to  what  I 
had  decided  on,  he  said  ; 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMArf.  155 

"  Mr.  F do  not  be  foolish  !  Do  not  break  up 

your  home,  ruin  your  life,  and  your  children's  future. 
I  have  seen  so  much  of  this  in  my  practice  !  Take 
a  bold  stand !  Tell  your  wife  your  home  is  her 
home  !  Tell  her  you  will  not  permit  her  to  break  it 
up !  If  she  left  you,  where  would  she  go  ?  " 

"To  her  mother  and  father." 

''Well,  they  are  reasonable  people,  they  -will  soon 
convince  her  she  is  wrong,  and  probably  she  will 
never  leave  anyhow. 

I  acted  on  his  advice. 

When  next  my  wife  spoke  to  me,  I  told  her 
quietly,  but  firmly;  I  would  live  with  her,  and  let  her 
go  her  way.  I  would  provide  for  her  as  in  the  past, 
but  would  not  permit  her  to  ruin  either  my  life,  or 
that  of  my  children. 

During  all  this  time,  Mr.  Nathan,  (notwithstanding 
even  requests  to  stay  away),  on  some  excuse  or 
other,  managed  to  inflict  himself  on  us,  and  the 
thought,  later  on  struck  me,  that  possibly  he  might 
be  aware  of  more  that  was  going  on  than  I  knew  of, 
as  inadvertently  he  admitted  having  met  my  wife  on 
the  very  afternoon  of  the  day  I  returned,  when 
previous  to  going  out,  she  had  seemingly  given  way 
to  her  better  nature,  and  appeared  something  like 
her  old  angelic  self. 


156  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

The  last  time  Mr.  Nathan  called,  he  invited  us  to 
accompany  him  the  following  evening  to  a  perfor 
mance  of  Dick  Mansfield's  "Nero."  Also  to  dine 
with  him  !  My  wife  declined.  I  accepted. 

The  following  morning  as  I  was  about  leaving, 
she  called  me  into  her  room,  and  said  : 

"Robert,  will  you  now  tell  me  whether  you  will 
take  a  flat  and  provide  for  me  as  I  wish,  as 
should  you  not  do  so,  I  have  made  up  my  mind " 

"  To  what  ?  "  I  replied. 

"  To  get  a  divorce"  she  answered,  " and  if  I  do ; 
it  will  be  a  sorry  thing  for  you,  as  I  will  bring 
married  women  into  the  case,  whose  husbands  will 
hardly  feel  friendly  toward  you." 

Married  women! 

For  a  moment  I  was  staggered.  Then  I  remem 
bered  having  told  a  Mrs.  A.,  (a  friend  of  my 
wife's)  about  a  certain  married  woman  whom  I  had 
known  when  she  was  a  girl,  and  whom  I  had  seen 
quite  often  in  late  years — in  fact  the  very  Gertrude 
of  whom  I  spoke  in  my  early  confessions — but 
knowing  there  was  nothing  'twixt  her  and  myself, 
other  than  friendship — a  little  out  of  the  ordinary — 
I  merely  smiled,  looked  steadily  at  my  wife  for  a 
minute,  and  said ; 

"  Edith,  do  you  not  think  we  have  been  at  swords 


A    KEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  157 

points  long  enough ?  Is  it  not  time  to  make  up?  " 
And  I  would  have  added  more,  (as  even  her  acknow 
ledgement  of  hatred,  I  looked  upon  as  an  ephemeral 
feeling)  when  she  transfixed  me  with  a  look. 

Ah,  that  one  glance!  It  was  enough!  Tis  a 
wonder,  all  love  did  not  then  leave  me.  I  turned  on 
my  heel  and  left  her. 

Arrived  at  my  office,  the  very  Mrs.  A.,  whom  I 
have  before  referred  to,  was  awaiting  me.  She 
called  in  answer  to  a  request  from  me.  I  had  been 
bothering  my  head  as  to  what  I  might  have  done, 
or  what  my  wife  might  have  heard.  Knowing  Mrs. 
A.  as  one  of  her  most  intimate  friends,  I  had 
requested  the  interview,  particularly  as  the  lady  in 
question  married  to  a  man  considerably  her  senior, 
had  some  little  peccadillos  of  her  own,  concerning 
which  my  wife  and  I  were  both  cognizant.  In  fact 
Mrs,  A.  was  the  reverse  of  a  prude,  and 
confiding  certain  facts  to  my  wife,  she,  strange 
mixture  of  puritanism,  straight -lacedness,  and 
liberal  mindedness,  more  than  wincked  at  her  friends 
derilictions. 

I  asked  Mrs.  A.  when  she  had  last  seen  Mrs.  F. 

"Yesterday,"  she  replied. 

"  Did  she  say  anything  to  you?  " 

"No!  Yes!     That  is,  nothing  particular.     Why?" 


A    NEW    ENGLAND 

Then  I  broke  forth.  I  told  her  what  had  happened. 
I  told  her  how  badly  I  felt;  I  told  her  of  what 
things  I  had  been  guilty;  but,  I  finally  wound  up  by 
saying  how  I  loved,  how  I  cared  for,  how  I  had 
always  loved  and  worshiped  my  wife. 

Mrs.  A.  at  first  acted  rather  coldly,  in  fact, 
indifferently.  As  I  proceeded  in  my  story,  the 
woman  softened,  she  thawed,  and  finally  affected  to 
tears,  she  drew  out  her  handkerchief,  gave  me  her 
hand,  asked  me  to  stop  talking  for  a  minute  or  two, 
and  when  she  had  quieted  down  somewhat, 
exclaimed : 

Oh,  Eobert,  I  never  thought  you  loved  her  so!  I 
never  dreamed  it.  You  have  been  a  fool !  It  was 
only  yesterday  that  Edith  spoke  to  me  about  leaving 
you.  She  claimed  she  was  not  happy.  I  tried  to 
reason  with  her—  tried  to  calm  her — but  it  seemed 
useless.  She  almost  turned  on  me  when  I  hinted 
you  could  hardly  be  expected  to  take  care  of  her  if 
she  was  no  wife  to  you,  but  now,  after  what  you 
have  told  me,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  not  let  many 
days  go  by  before  I  found  out,  who  was  at  the  bottom 
of  my  trouble." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Mr.  F.  you  are  a  fool ! "  she  answered.  "  Do  you 
not  know  who  is  to  blame  for  all  this  ?  Do  you 


A    SEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  159 

think  it  natural  for  a  woman  to  turn  on  a  man  as 
Edith  has  on  you  ?  Do  you  think  any  woman  would 
do  so,  if  she  were  not  infatuated;  not  in  love  with 
another  man  ?  " 

If  I  recollect  aright,  I  positively  laughed. 

"  Mrs  A,"  I  exclaimed,  "  Edith  in  love  with  another 
man !  Why  the  one  trouble  with  her  is  she  hates 
men !  Something  is  at  the  bottom  of  her  present 
indifference  and  dislike,  or  whatever  you  choose  to 
call  it,  but  it  is  not  love,  or  another  man,  but  since 
you  have  3rour  own  notions  on  the  subject,  supposing 
you  tell  me  who  the  man  is,  as  I  really  urn  a  little 
bit  curious." 

"Do  you  not  know  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  No  !  Nor  do  you,  nor  anybody  else  in  the  whole 
world." 

What  man  has  been  continually  in  her  and  your 
society  for  the  last  half  dozen  years  ?  "  she  inquired. 
"  What  man  spent  the  whole  summer  with  her  in 
the  couutryf  Do  you  know  that  for  years  past,  Edith 
has  met  Mr.  Nathan  every  afternoon  on  23d  Street, 
that  she  has  visited  him  at  his  apartments,  that  they 
take  carriage  rides  together,  and  that  the  very 
day  on  which  she  came  so  near  yielding,  and  left  you 
after  luncheon,  she  had  an  appointment  with  this 
man?" 


160  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

I  grew  serious.  I  had  learned  more  than  I  had 
expected  to  hear. 

"  Pshaw!"  I  exclaimed.  "  Mr.  Nathan  has  been  in 
our  society  for  years,  because  his  company  was 
agreeable  to  both  of  us.  He  has  been  almost  a 
brother.  He  spent  the  summer  with  her  because  he 
had  to  leave  town,  his  boy  was  with  Edith,  and  so 
naturally  he  would  be  apt  to  be  with  him.  As  to 
meeting  him  on  23d  Street  and  taking  carriage 
drives,  I  know  they  often  met,  and  for  convenience 
sake,  rode  home  together,  and  as  to  visiting  him  in 
his  apartments,  I  know  of  that  too,  but  that  was 
only  when  he  was  sick,  and  I  scolded  her  at  the  time 
for  being  so  foolhardy." 

"Robert,  Robert,  you  are  one  man  in  a  thousand.  I 
wish  to  heaven  some  man  loved  me  as  you  do  her." 

With  that  she  left  me. 

That  afternoon,  I  early  left  my  office. 
Expecting  to  dine  and  go  to  the  theatre  with  Mr. 
Nathan  afterwards,  I  had  decided  to  make  another 
effort  to  persuade  Edith  to  accompany  us. 

Arrived  home,  I  took  my  time  about  dressing,  and 
inquiring  after  my  wife,  found  she  had  not  returned 
from  her  customary  afternoon's  outing.  I  waited  until 
after  six  o'clock,  and  then  leaving  a  hasty  message  for 
her,  I  joined  Mr.  Nathan  at  his  hotel,  partook  of 


A    NEW    KN(tLANI)    WOMAN. 


161 


dinner  with  him,  and  afterwards  accompanied  him  t<> 
the  theatre.  The  play  as  beforesaid,  was  "Nero."  Well 
in  keeping  with  my  moody  spirits.  Mansfield  acted 
grandly,  but  as  the  play  progressed,  and  the  tyrants 
cruelty  and  wickedness  became  more  and  more 
evident,  involuntarily  a  feeling  of — I  know  not  what 
—  a  foreboding  of  the  blow  that  was  to  come — came 
upon  me.  I  could  not  sit  out  the  play.  I  had  to 
leave  before  the  last  act !  I  hurried  home.  My 
butler's  first  words  on  opening  the  door,  were  : 

"A  telegram,  sir!" 

With  an  indefinable  feeling — a  consciousness  of 
evil,  I  tore  off  the  wrapper,  and  read  : 

"  I  have  gone  to  Worcester  to  see  my  mother. 

MRS.  FENNIMORE." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


The  blow  had  been  struck  ! 

I  have  before  this  referred  to  myself  as  of  an 
inpressionable  nature.  All  my  life  I  had  carried  within 
me  a  certain  feeling— of  I  knew  not  what— a  kind 
of  premonition  of  evil  that  was  to  come—  and  in  my 
very  happiest  moments,  I  would  often  impress  others 
— that  I  had  about  me  a  far  away,  dreamy  sort  of 
air — a  meditative,  pensive  expression  of  face — that 
would  frequently  induce  friends  to  inquire  as  to 
what  I  was  dreaming  about. 

I,  myself,  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  it.  I  had 
been  fortunate,  successful  and  happy.  Fortunate 
beyond  my  expectations,  successful  beyond  the 
anticipations  of  my  wildest  dreams,  while  I  had  out 
stripped  and  passed  all  my  youthful  friends  in  the 
mad  rush  for  wealth  and  fame. 

I  had  been  as  happy  as  I  thought  man  ever  could 
be,  and  yet  withal  that,  there  always  was  that  silent 


i.    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  163 

voice  within  me — whose  language  I  failed  to 
understand,  but  which  voice  I  perhaps  best 
interpreted  as  saying ;  In  the  midst  of  life,  there  is 
death.  And  yet,  I  knew  that  voice  intended  to 
convey  an  entirely  different  interpretation  to  ine,  but 
for  the  life  of  me,  I  could  not  find  the  solution. 

That  voice  was  locked  within  my  breast, 
The  key  I  ne'er  could  find. 

All  of  a  sudden  I  understood  it  !  It  was  the  old 
Mosaic  command  ; 

"THOU  SHALT  HAVE  NO  OTHER  GODS 
BESIDE  ME." 

My  wife  had  been  my  God,  my  idol !  I  needed  the 
blow.  It  struck  the  old  lock.  The  springs  yielded. 
I  then  knew  what,  that  indefinable  dread,  that  indes 
cribable  fear  portended  I  had  built  mine  house  on 
the  sand,  and  the  waves  were  engulfing  me. 

Controling  myself    as   best   I  could,  I  enquired  : 

"  Where  are  the  children  1 " 

"  Upstairs,  sir !  " 

"  Where  is  their  nurse  t  " 

"With  them,  sir!" 

"Wake  her  up,  tell  her  I  wish  to  see  her." 

With  that  I  collapsed. 

The  nurse  appeared. 


164:  NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

"  What  time  did  Mrs.  Fennimore  leave  the  house, 
Mary  ? ''  I  inquired. 

'At  about  noon  time,  sir  !  " 

"Did  she  say  anything  about  not  returning 
to-day?" 

"  No,  sir  !  " 

"  Did  she  see  the  children,  before  she  left  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  or  rather,  yes,  she  saw  the  baby  for  a 
minute." 

"  Did  she  take  any  valise  with  her  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir,  I  will  find  out,"  and  with 
that  she  called  her  assistant,  and  soon  came  rushing 
down  with  the  information  that  my  wife  had  taken  a 
small  hand  satchel,  but  absolutely  nothing  else. 

I  went  to  my  room. 

It  was  midnight.  I  sat  on  a  chair  near  the  open 
window.  I  placed  my  arms  on  the  window  sill,  and 
I  gazed  up  at  the  stars  that  were  shining  down 
upon  me,  in  all  their  brilliancy  and  splendor.  My 
thoughts  traveled  through  space  to  that  night  some 
eleven  years  back,  when  I  had  first  felt 

"  The  deep  sorrow  of  loving," 

and  I  remembered  how,  on  that  occasion,  after 
fruitlessly  tossing  on  my  bed,  I  had  gazed  from  my 
window  for  hours  at  the  sky  and  stars,  until  finally, 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  1  f>5 

for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  saw  the  sun  arise  in 
his  majesty  and  glory — and  as  I  sat  there  thinking, 
my  poor  head  aching  as  if  it  were  fit  to  split,  once 
again  I  forgot  self ;  once  again  iny  better  nature 
triumphed,  and  forgetting  my  own  wrongs,  remem 
bering  only  the  sins  I  had  been  guilty  of,  I  took 
paper  and  pencil  and  sent  the  following  telegram  to 
her  father  : 

Make  Edith  return  to-<lay,  with  her  mother  if  she  is 
willing.  Come  yourself,  if  possible.  Am  willing  to  have 
you  and  her  mother,  decide  as  to  the  future.  Send  answer  to 
house.  There  all  day. 

And  what  did  I  mean  ? 

For  the  sake  of  her  who  was  the  mother  of  my 
children,  I  was  willing  to  give  up  my  home,  give  up 
my  comforts,  give  up  my  children,  and  if  her  parents 
demanded  it,  was  even  willing  to  cast  myself  again 
into  the  world,  and  living  by  myself,  endeavor,  if 
possible,  to  atone  for  the  misdeeds  of  the  past.  Not 
one  thought  of  her  being  wrong— of  my  being 
sinned  against !  My  one,  my  only  desire  to  bring 
back  the  mother,  to  her  babes. 

It  was  thus  for  the  second  time  in  my  life,  my 
better  nature  triumphed,  and  when  a  few 
hours  thereafter,  her  father  replied  :  "  Will  see  you 


166  A   NEW   ENGLAND   WOMAN. 

to-morrow."  I  mentally  prepared  myself  for  the 
inevitable. 

The  day  passed  in  sorrow  and  waiting,  and  when 
the  next  day  dawned,  I  hourly  awaited  her  father's 
coming. 

Not  hearing  from  him.  I  at  a  late  hour  in  the 
afternoon,  sent  to  his  office.  No  answer  was 
returned.  Late  at  night,  I  received  a  line,  which 
simply  said : 

"  I  cannot  see  you  !  " 

In  my  lonesomeness,  I  had  sent  for  a  friend !  In 
his  presence  I  burst  into  tears.  He  tried  to  console 
me.  I  suggested  he  take  a  letter  from  me  to  my 
wife,  or  that  he  go  and  see  her  parents.  He  thought 
it  would  be  the  height  of  intrusion !  Finally  we 
both  jumped  into  a  hack,  and  were  whirled  to  my 
father-in-law's  abode. 

We  rang  the  bell. 

Her  mother  and  father  had  returned,  so  had  my 
wife,  but  they  had  gone  out  to  a  theatre. 

Our  baby  was  sick.  The  nurses  month  was  up, 
and  she  had  given  notice. 

In  desperation,  I  left  a  note  : 

Have  Edith  come  home  nt  once.  Baby  sick.  Nurse 
leaving.  I  cannot  take  care  of  it.  House  open  until  two 
o'clock  for  Edith  to  return. 


A    HEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

The  house  remained  open  all  night.  My  friend 
and  I  sat  up,  until  after  three  o'clock.  Exhausted 
nature,  then  gave  way.  I  fell  asleep. 

On  awakening,  it  was  broad  daylight.  Almost 
noon.  My  friend  had  breakfasted  alone.  He  was 
sitting  by  my  side. 

"  Any  word  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"None!"  he  said. 

I  turned  aside  to  hide  my  tears. 

"  Rob,"  he  asked.  "  If  she  were  to  return  now, 
could  you  forgive  her  ?  " 

"  Hal,"  I  answered,  "  I   have   nothing  to  forgive 
I  want   my   wife;  the   children   want  their   mother;  I 
have  wronged  her,  I  drove  her  from  me;  I  must  have 
her  come  back" 

"  But  d n  it  man,  you  certainly  do  not  mean  to 

say  you  still  love  her?  " 

"  Hal,  I  answered,  "you  remember  my  mother? 
How  she  loved  my  brother  Tom !  Once,  when  I 
undertook  to  upbraid  her  for  caring  for  so  heartless, 
so  wicked  a  son,  she  looked  at  me  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  and  said  : 

You  can  say  all  you  wish  !  lie  was  my  first-born. 
Love  him  I  do,  and  love  him  I  must  until  I  go  to 
join  your  father  ! 

It  is  thus   that    I   feel   towards   Edith.     She  has 


16S  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

deserted  me,  she  has  turned  on  me,  she  has  bowed 
my  head  to  the  dust,  but  love  her  I  must,  andloveher 
I  do,  until  death  us  do  part" 

I  forget  what  reply  my  friend  made,  as  just  then 
my  butler  announced,  Mrs.  A. 

I  went  down  stairs  to  receive  her.  Seeing  me,  she 
exclaimed : 

"  You  home  !     Where  is  Edith  *  " 

Half  choking,  I  gasped:    "  She  has  gone  !  " 

"  Gone  !     Gone  where  I " 

"  To  her  mother  !  " 

"  When  ?  " 

"The  day  on  which  you  came  to  see  me/' 

The  poor  woman  blamed  herself,  she  told  me  how 
sorry  she  was,  and  finally  wound  up  by  saying  : 

"  I  ought  to  have  warned  you.  I  should  have 
come  to  you  in  time." 

After  a  while,  when  in  a  measure  composed,  she 
inquired : 

"  And,  Nathan.  What  of  him  *  Has  he  been 
here  ?  " 

"Yes,  for  a  minute  or  two,"  I  replied. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  about  him,  do  you  believe 
me  now?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"Mrs.  A.,"  I  said,  and  I  arose  from  my  seat,  "I 
am  sorry  you  have  taken  so  much  trouble,  you 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  1C9 

judge  my  wife  by  a  standard  of  your  own.  I  judge 
her  differently.  Good  day  !  "  With  that  I  ushered 
her  out  of  the  house. 

She  had  hardly  been  gone  an  hour,  when  Mrs.  B. 
(my  wife's  mother)  called.  I  was  at  the  parlor 
window.  Seeing  her,  I  opened  the  house  door, 
myself. 

"  I  have  come  for  the  baby,"  she  said,  "  that  is, 
if  I  can  have  it."1 

"  Of  course  you  can,"  I  replied. 

"  And  I  would  like  some  of  Edith's  things,  if 
you  will  let  me  get  them,"  she  added. 

"  Take  whatever  you  want,  madame,  but  before 
doing  so,  let  me  have  a  few  words  with  you. 

I  then  went  into  a  history  of  her  daughter's  life 
with  me.  I  told  her;  none  knew,  better  thap  she,  how 
I  had  worshiped  her  child  before  she  became  my 
wife,  none  ought  to  know  better  than  she,  how  in  all 
these  years  I  had  cared  for,  and  loved  her  daughter ! 
I  quickly  went  into  the  details  of  how  the  years  had 
been  passed.  I  even  told  her,  how  her  daughter  had 
within  a  year  after  our  marriage  told  me,  she  did 
not  care  for  me  as  I  should  be  cared  for  ;  and,  after 
exclaiming  : 

"  But,  although  Edith  never  cared  for  me,  I  can 
not  understand  why  she  should  now  leave  me, "  the 


170  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

old  lady  replied : 

"  She  has  given  me  no  reason  at  all !  She  has  only 
talked  with  her  father.  All  she  says  is  :  She  is 
tired  and  wants  a  change" 

11  Tired  and  wants  a  change,  does  she  ?  Well, 
madame,  let  me  tell  you;  you,  her  mother,  I  have 
done  my  duty — as  best  I  know  how — to  her,  and  by 
her.  I  have  many  a  time  done  wrong,  but  no  woman 
other  than  she,  has  ever  held  a  place  in  my  heart. 
She  knows  it!  You  know  it!  For  what  has  happened 
I  blame  myself  !  She  has  threatened  divorce  pro 
ceedings.  If  it  comes  to  a  divorce,  perhaps  the 
divorce  will  be  mine" 

I  then  went  on  to  tell  her,  as  to  what  I  had  heard 
about  Nathan.  I  concluded  by  saying,  a  few  minutes 
before  you  entered,  I  showed  the  door  to  Mrs.  A., 
but  after  what  you  have  said,  I  ana  sorry  I  did  so. 

"  And  you  believed  that  woman  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  believe  her !  Do  I  not  know  Edith  even 
better  than  you  do  ?"  And  that  same  look  of  confi 
dence,  that  same  indefinable  tone,  which  says  more 
than  words,  which  I  had  always  used  when  my 
Edith's,  my  wife's,  honor  was  concerned,  was  mine. 

Just  then  the  bell  rang  again.  A  legal  friend, 
who  had  some  business,  called.  The  old  lady  went 
upstairs,  and  after  my  friend's  departure,  I  met  her 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  171 

on  her  way  down  with  a  large  bundle,  and  accom 
panied  by  Beatrice,  who  was  in  the  arms  of  her 
nurse. 

Ah,  little  one,  how  little  your  father  dreamed  when 
he  allowed  you  to  leave  him,  and  subsequently  tem 
porarily,  permitted  your  brother  to  follow,  you  would 
never  see  him  again,  until  the  law  had  cruelly  taken 
you  from  him,  and  deeded  you  forever  to  your  mother! 
You  were  so  puny,  so  helpless,  and  it  seemed  so 
cruel  to  keep  you  from  her,  that  I  involuntarily, 
even  irillingly  surrendered  you,  whereas,  had  I 
known  the  law  as  Ida  now,  and  been  able  to  read 
what  the  future  had  in  store,  neither  the  king,  nor 
all  the  king's  men,  could  have  induced  me  to  surrender 
you  for  a  brief  part  of  a  fraction  of  a  fractional 
second.  You  vere  my  child,  you  are  my  child,  and 
although  we  are  separated,  and  the  law  has  taken 
you  away,  may  God  grant  you  never  miss  the  father's 
love,  which  some  day,  he  prays  to  heaven,  he  may  be 
able  to  bestow  upon  you. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


Before  the  old  lady  departed,  she  asked  me  as  to 
whether  her  daughter  might  send  for  her  trunks, 
which  she  had,  previous  to  deserting  me,  taken  the 
pains  to  pack,  lock  and  fasten. 

"Madame,  she  may  send  for  the  trunks,  and  what 
ever  else  she  wants,  but  first,  I  want  to  see  her— 
face  to  face.  Ask  her  to  come  up  to-morrow, 
(Sunday)  with  her  father,  or  with  you.  I  will  be 
home  all  day." 

"I  will  tell  her,"  she  replied,  "but  I  am  afraid 
she  will  not  come." 

"  Why  not  ?     I  certainly  will  not  harm  her." 

"  Well,  you  know  how  funny  Edith  is,"  was  her 
reply,  and  with,  that  she  entered  her  carriage  and 
drove  away. 

I  lived  in  hopes !  I  wanted  to  see  her.  I  felt 
sure  if  I  did  see  her,  she  would  return  to  her  home, 
which,  if  necessary,  I  was  willing  to  leave. 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  173 

I  waited  in  vain. 

Friends  called  galore !  I  was  in  a  fever  of  excite 
ment  all  day.  Whereas,  I  had  sympathy  from  all, 
the  majority  were  so  narrow  minded,  some  blaming 
her,  some  blaming  me — all  sure  Nathan  was  at  the 
bottom  of  everything— that  I  finally,  in  sheer 
desperation,  locked  myself  in  my  room,  and  refused 
to  be  seen.  I  even  went  so  far  as  to  drive  away  the 
friend  who  voluntarily  had  sacrificed  his  time  and 
business  to  my  wishes,  and  only  after  writing 
Nathan,  who  had  called  only  once,  (and  then  only 
in  answer  to  an  imperative  telegram),  did  I  awake  to 
the  facts. 

When  left  alone,  I  finally  became  almost  frantic. 
For  four  days  I  had  not  left  the  house,  partly  for 
fear  my  children  might  be  taken  away  from  me, 
partly  because  I  felt  too  miserable  to  care  to  enter 
the  world. 

My  little  Enid  used  to  come  up  to  me ' 

"Papa,  don't  cry,"  she  would  say.  "Wat  is  loo 
dying  about  ?  " 

I  would  stoop  down,  take  her  on  my  lap,  press  her 
to  my  heart. 

I  would  tell  her,  "  Mamma  does  not  love  me," 

"  Why  does  mamma,  not  love  papa?"  she  would 
inquire,  and  then  she  would  pat  me  with  her  little 


174  A   NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

baby  hand,  draw  my  handkerchief  out  of  my  pocket, 
and  gently  wipe  away  my  tears. 

Ah,  little  sweetheart,  when  you  were  born,  your 
father  was  afraid  you  might  be  taken  away  from 
him,  as  your  little  baby  sister  had  been.  You  were 
so  tiny,  so  frail,  and  he  so  much  feared,  he  would 
lose  you  !  Little  did  he  dream  you  would  grow  into 
the  heavenly  little  comforter  you  proved  yourself,  and 
when  I  then  vowed,  for  your  sake,  I  would  concede 
everything,  for  the  sake  of  keeping  you,  I  would 
agree  to  almost  anything,  I  little  thought,  how  soon 
my  trial  would  actually  begin. 

Among  my  <f  sunny  day  friends,"  there  was  one 
who  hearing  of  my  affliction,  hastened  to  me, 
Like  unto  others,  he  tried  to  console  me,  but 
unlike  others  he  offered  to  do  what  he  could,  to 
bring  the  wife  to  the  husband  the  mother  to  the 
children. 

Heart  broken  as  I  was;  the  suspense,  the  uncertainty 
as  to  what  she  intended,  positively  unfitted  me  for 
anything. 

At  his  suggestion,  I  wrote  my  wife  the  following 
letter : 
EDITH. 

There  is  such  a  thing  as  being  more  sinned  against,  than 
sinning.  I  have  been  in  the  depth  for  a  week.  You  have 
known  my  misery.  Things  have  changed.  You  have  been 


A   HEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN.  l/> 

my  wife,  and  as  such  I  wish  you  well.  I  asked  your  mother  to 
come  up  with  you  yesterday,  but  as  you  failed  to  do  so,  I  wish 
you  would  let  me  know  by  the  bearer  what  you  want.  You 
hare  left  my  bed  and  board.  You  have  deserted  your  huskim! 
and  children  !  I  have  some  rights,  and  a  good  many,  but  as 
the  house  I  live  in,  is  hateful  to  me,  I  want  to  close  it,  and  let 
jou  take  such  things  as  you  wish,  and  arrange  with  you  as  to 
the  future.  Let  me  hear  by  Al  what  you  want,  or  send  me  a 
letter  through  him. 

YOUR  HUSBAND. 

This  letter  I  sent  by  my  friend.  It  was  at  night. 
At  first,  thanks  to  her  mother,  he  had  difficulty  in 
seeing  her. 

Edith  received  him  pleasantly.  She  took  the 
letter,  and  after  reading,  said : 

44  Tell  Mr.  Fennimore  he  will  hear  from  me." 

"Let  me  take  your  answer,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Well,  I  hardly  know  what  to  say,"  she  replied. 

"  Mrs.  Fennimore,"  he  said,  "  pardon  the  liberty  I 
am  taking,  but  I  think  you  are  a  very  foolish  woman. 
Naturally,  I  do  not  know  what  brought  all  this 
about,  but  I  know  Robert  loves  you.  He  is  your 
husband !  He  is  heart  broken  !  Go  home  to  him; 
or  let  me  know  what  word  of  encouragement  I  can 
take  to  him." 

44  Mr.  Price,"  she  inquired,  44  you  have  known  us  a 
good  many  years.  Did  lever  strike  you  as  being  a 
happy  woman  ?  " 


176  A    NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

In  telling  me  of  this,  poor  Al,  told  me,  lie  was  for  a 
minute  or  two  almost  staggered.  Then  he  replied  ; 

" Happy  woman!  Why,  I  thought  you  and 
Robert  were  the  happiest  couple  I  knew  of !  Why  I 
used  to  talk  to  my  friends  about  your  seeming 
happiness  !  He  certainly  always  showed  he  loved 
you,  and  I  most  assuredly  thought,  you  had  every 
thing  your  heart  wished  for." 

He  then  went  on  to  say  he  talked  with  her  for  an 
hour;  that  he  reasoned  with  her ;  told  her  if  she 
persisted  in  her  course,  she  not  alone  would  lose  a 
husband,  but  ran  the  chance  of  losing  her  children; 
that  the  law  gave  them  to  the  man  when  the  wife 
deserted  him,  that  she  had  deserted  me.  and  on  her 
saying : 

"Oh  no,  he  left  me  first!" 

"  Yes,  for  a  day  or  two,"  he  replied,  (f but  he  came 
back ;  he  is  now  home  with  his  children — you  are 
not! 

Just  then  her  mother  came  in. 

"  Edith,"  she  exclaimed,  "  do  not  worry  yourself, 
and  bother  about  what  Mr.  Price  says,  you  are  tired, 
you  had  better  go  to  bed." 

"No,  mamma,  I  am  not  tired  leave  me  alone 
please  ! " 

Mr.  Price  then  continued  in  a  vein  similar  to  his 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  177 

previous  one,  when  the  mother  on  leaving  the  room 
rudely  said : 

"  Rubbish  and  rot  !  Do  not  be  foolish,  dear,  you 
will  have  the  children,  all  of  them,'''  and  with  that  she 
banged  the  door  to. 

On  returning,  Mr.  Price  told  me  as  to  what 
had  occured,  and  concluding,  said  : 

"  She  promises  to  write  to-morrow." 

The  morrow  came,  but  no  letter. 

At  about  dinner  time,  when  entering  my  dining 
room  and  seating  myself,  £Ae  loiiesomeness,  the  vacant 
chairs,  the  absence  of  my  wife  and  friends — aye, 
even  the  vacant  chair  so  often  occupied  by  Mr. 
Nathan— struck  me  to  the  heart.  I  attempted  to 
eat.  The  first  morsel  choked  me.  I  collapsed.  My 
butler,  good  hearted  old  soul,  broke  down  at  the 
same  time.  In  supporting  me  to  the  adjoining 
room  he  wept,  he  wept  with  me.  I  never  thought 
man  could  have  positive  hysterics.  I  learned  other 
wise  !  The  butler  called  the  cook,  she  the  laundress, 
and  eventually  the  nurses  came  running  down.  All 
tried — good,  honest  souls  that  they  were— to  console 
me.  Just  then  one  of  my  sisters  arrived. 

"  Robert,  calm  yourself  !  Keep  quiet !  Out  on 
such  a  woman !  After  a  letter  such  as  you  sent  her; 
to  vouchsafe  no  answer  !  Close  your  heart  to  her  ! 


178  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

Be  a  man  !  " 

The  bell  rang.  Mr.  Price  arrived.  He  put  his 
arms  about  me.  He  felt  for  me.  He  understood 
my  misery. 

"  Oh  Al,  bring  Edith  to  me,  bring  her  back  ! " 

After  quieting  down  somewhat,  I  persuaded  him 
to  once  more  go  and  see  her;  to  once  more  take  a 
a  letter  from  me. 

I  wrote  as  follows : 

EDITH. 

When  I  s*nt  yesterday's  letter,  to  which  no  reply  has  been 
received,  I  thought  it  best  to  acquiesce  in  whatever  you 
wished.  I  have  seen  Al,  and  he  has  told  me  of  his  interview 
with  you.  From  what  he  says;  I  know  you  have  not  lost  all 
heart.  So  I  write — Come  home  !  Come  home  !  There  are  no 
two  niches  in  the  world  for  you  to  fill.  I  am  your  husband, 
the  father  of  your  children.  Discarded  I  may  be,  but  I  cannot 
believe  a  traitor's  allurements,  a  pretended  friend's  flattery, 
can  have  completely  turned  you.  I  have  been  blind,  but  you 
know  what  my  faith  in  you  was.  The  world  says  you  are  false. 
Prove  yourself  true  !  Even  your  mother  (in  my  last  sickness) 
tried  to  warn  me  against  the  man.  But  I  care  not  for  him.  / 
do  care  for  you.  Come  home!  Come  home!  I  will  do  any 
thing  you  demand.  You  can  be  master,  and  although  I  cannot 
be  a  slave,  I  can  be  a  nonentity.  Come  to  your  children,  and 
do  not  let  us  wreck  thtir  lives,  as  well  as  our  own.  I  cannot 
write  more.  Come  home !  Come  home  ! 

"  Take  a  cab,  Al,  bring  her  back  with  you,  and  may 
God  speed  you." 
"With  that  I  fell  almost  limpless  in  my  chair. 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  179 

Al,  was  gone  for  over  two  hours  !  During  his 
absence  I  had  gradually  quieted  down.  "When  he 
returned  I  was  walking  the  floor.  He  entered  the 
room  smiling.  By  his  looks  I  saw,  he  was  attempting 
to  deceive  me.  I  took  him  by  the  hand. 

11  Al,''  I  said,  "  it  was  useless?  " 

"  She  will  let  you  hear  from  her,  to-morrow !  I 
think  she  will  come  !  " 

"Al,  you  lie,"  I  exclaimed! 

He  looked  at  me,  he  saw  I  was  calm. 

"Well  yes,  I  was  afraid  to  to  tell  you,  as  I  thought 
you  could  not  stand  it." 

"I  am  all  right  Al,"  I  replied,  "  what  happened?  " 

He  then  told  me  that  this  time,  he  had  considerable 
difficulty  in  being  admitted  at  all,  and  only  by 
insisting  that  he  positively  must  deliver  my  letter  to 
Edith  in  person,  was  he  allowed  to  take  a  seat  in  the 
parlor,  where,  after  quite  a  delay,  my  wife  joined 
him.  Without  in  any  way  attempting  to  make  him 
feel  at  home,  Edith,  merely  bowing,  stood  'twixt 
the  folding  doors  that  divided  the  parlor  from 
the  next  room,  her  very  attitude  seemingly  inquiring 
— better  than  words — well!  what  do  you  want? 

"Mrs.  Fennimore,  I  have  brought  a  letter  from 
Kobert." 

'I  do  not  care  to  receive  it.  I  want  no  more  letters' 


180  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

"But,  Mrs.  Fennimore,  I  have  just  left  your 
husband,  he  is  almost  out  of  his  mind,  he  has  broken 
down  completely,  he  is  beside  himself.  I  brought 
you  this  letter,  and  I  have  furthermore  come  in  a  cab 
to  bring  you  home.  You  must  come!" 

Without  a  word  she  took  the  missive,  and  without 
changing  her  attitude,  which  necessitated  Al's  also 
standing,  she  read  what  I  had  written ;  glanced  over 
what  the  very  anguish  I  was  laboring  under  had 
forced  from  my  heart,  and  contemptuously  throwing 
my  letter  on  the  piano,  said : 

"  There  is  no  answer" 

11  Gad,  if  1  ever  saw  the  *  Marble  Heart"1  in  real 
life,  it  was  then  before  me,"  Al  exclaimed,  when  he 
was  describing  his  interview  to  me. 

" No  answer !"  he  ventured'  ''Why  Mrs.  Fenni 
more,  you  cannot  mean  it." 

And  then,  poor  boy,  he  spoke  to  her  as  best  he 
could,  finally  saying : 

"You  promised  last  night  to  write  him  anyhow. 
Why  did  you  not  do  so  ?  " 

" He  will  hear  from  me  in  due  course.^ 

And  with  that  my  friend  knew  the  interview  was 
at  an  end. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


He  will  bear  from  me  in  due  course  I 

The  next  day  I  received  the  following  letter  : 

OFFICE  OF 

CHARMER  AND  KEEPAM, 
ATTORNEYS  AND  COUNSELLORS  AT-LAW, 

BKOADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 

MB.   Kobert   FENNIMORE,  October  CM,  IK— 

—  WEST  —  STBEET, 

NEW  YORK  CITY. 
DEAR   SIB, 

Your  wife  has  consulted  us,  with  reference  to  some  family 
matters.  If  it  is  your  desire,  wo  should  be  glad  to  have  you 
call  upon  us,  Thursday  afternoon,  the  8th  inst.,  for  the  purpose 
of  consultation.  If,  upon  seeing  your  attorney,  you  conclude 
to  call,  kindly  bring  him  with  you,  and  let  us  know  to-morrow 
what  hour  in  the  afternoon,  on  Thursday,  you  will  be  here. 
Yours  respectfully. 

CHARMEU     AND     KEEPAM. 
I  had  Jieardfrom  her. 
What  need  to  go  into  details? 

I   consulted   my  attorney,  and  with   his   son,  and 
another  lawyer,  who  was  a   personal  friend,  and  as 


A    KEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

such,  was  willing  to  be  of  service,  but  did  not  care 
to  appear  in  the  case,  I  called  on  Mr.  Charmer. 

Previous  to  doing  so,  both  my  friend  and  my 
attorney  thought  a  legal  separation  would  be  asked 
for. 

My  friend,  whose  name  was  Maurice,  was  almost 
knocked  off  his  feet  when  Mr.  Charmer  coolly  informed 
us  : 

"  We  want  an  absolute  divorce." 

"  Why,  I  cannot  believe  it ! "  he  exclaimed.  I  know 
Mrs.  Fennimore;  I  know  Mr.  Fennimore.  She 
surely  is  not  the  woman  who  would  take  herself, 
and  her  troubles  to  an  open  court  and  force  this 
issue  on  us." 

"I  am  merely  obeying  my  client's  instructions,'' 
replied  Mr.  Charmer  ;  "  and,  under  the  circumstances 
of  Mr.  Fennimore's  being  as  well  known  as  he  is,  and 
as  I  always  do  in  similar  cases,  I  wrote  him, 
thinking  we  could  possibly  avoid  publicity,  and — " 

He  was  going  to  add  something  further,  when  my 
attorney,  Mr.  Dollars,  interrupted  him,  by  inquiring  : 

"How  much?" 

"You  mean,  what  alimony  we  demand  f  " 

"Yes,  how  much  alimony,  and  how  much  counsel 
fee  t  " 

"  Well,  we  ask   alimony   at   the   rate   of  eighteen 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  183 

hundred   per  annum,   and    a   counsel    fee    of    five 
hundred  dollars." 

"And  as  to  the  children t  " 
"We  want  them!" 

"Well  then,  there  is  no  good  of  proposing  any 
amicable  settlement.  Mr.  Fennimore  is  imperative 
and  positive.  Even  in  case  of  a  separation,  he 
positively  demands  Enid.  In  case  of  a  divorce,  I 
know  he  will  want  her.  (This  much  I  had  before  calling 
irrevocably  decided  on). 

"Well,  perhaps  we  can  agree  to  that." 
"  All  right ;  we   merely   came   here  in  answer  to 
your  letter  anyhow,  Mr.  Charmer.    How  many  days, 
will  you  give  us  to  consider?  " 

"Until  next  Monday,  Mr.  Dollars." 
Just  then  my  friend  Maurice  queried  ; 
"  And  if  we  refuse  an  absolute  divorce  S  " 
"  I  shall  bring  the  action   in   this  city,  which  will 
require   making   my   motion  in  open   court,    which 
as  you  gentlemen  know  (ever  since  the  Flack  case) 
has  become  an  invariable  rule  in  divorces,  while  if 
we  can  agree  on  terms,  why  I  can  bring  the  action 
in  Rockland,  Queens,  or  any  other  county;  it  can  be 
tried   before  a  referee,  who  can  be  brought  on  here, 
and  there  will  be  no  publicity." 

"And    what   proof    have    you,"  Maurice    further 
inquired  ? 


184  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

"  Proof,  (although  I  am  a  little  surprised  at  your 
asking  me  a  question  like  that,  Maurice)  why  I  have 
enough  proof  to  give  us  a  hundred  divorces  if  they 
were  required." 

(At  both  Mr.  Dollars  and  Maurice's  request,  I  had 
been  careful  up  to  that  moment,  to  merely  act  as  a 
passive  listener.) 

"  Allow  me  to  say,  Mr.  Charmer,"  I  exclaimed,  if 
it  comes  to  a  divorce,  perhaps  I  prefer  to  have  it 
public,  in  open  court,  and  before  a  jury" 

"  You  are  the  best  judge,  Mr.  Fennimore,"  he 
replied,  and  with  that  he  bowed  us  out  of  his  office. 

Mr.  Dollars  accompanied  me  to  my  friend 
Maurice's  lair. 

As  I  sit  here  and  write  the  foregoing,  I  can  hardly 
credit  my  ability  to  write  cooly  and  calmnly 
concerning  matters  which  when  originally  forced 
upon  me,  made  my  very  head  reel.  "  We  want  an 
absolute  divorce  f "  How  these  words  haunted  me, 
how  they  seemed  ever  before  me !  How  my  heart 
sunk  within  me  !  How  horrifying  the  bare  thought 
seemed  to  me  ! 

"  You  can  congratulate  yourself  that  they  did  not 
ask  three  thousand,  or  even  five  thousand  dollars 
alimony,  which  if  Charmer  was  smart,  he  might 
have  demanded,"  exclaimed  Dollars. 


A    NEW    KNC.I.AM)    WOMAN.  185 

"Well,  I  do  not  know!"  interjected  Maurice. 
"  Robert  is  not  as  well  fixed  as  he  was,  and  even 
eighteen  hundred  per  annum  is  a  matter  to  seriously 
think  over.  I  would  make  it  less." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  that  I  will  agree  to  any 
thing  ?  "  I  cried,  feeling  as  if  the  future  were  indeed 
a  blank  one. 

"  Well  !  we  have  till  Monday,  anyhow  ;  come  in 
and  see  nie  Saturday,"  and  with  that  Dollars  left  us« 

Maurice  then  told  me  he  was  much  surprised ;  h«- 
could  hardly  credit  the  demand  as  coming  from  my 
wife,  but  it  only  proved  "  women  were  peculiar 
creatures  ; "  and  he  then  went  on  to  tell  me  not  to 
regard  Nathan  as  a  friend  of  mine,  as  he  had  met 
him  by  chance,  and,  on  questioning  him,  was  con 
vinced,  although  he  had  heretofore  thought  differently 
that  Nathan  was  at  the  bottom  of  everything." 

*'  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  "  I  queried. 

'  *  Think  so  ?  I  know  so  !  Are  you  aware  that  Nathan 
has  been  calling  on  your  wife  nightly ;  in  fact,  every 
night  since  she  left  you  *  That  he  meets  her  in  the 
day-time,  and  that  from  what  he  has  himself  told 
me,  he  is  evidently  working  against  you  f  " 

No,  Maurice  :  I  am  net  aware  of  it ;  but,  if  it  is 
so,  somebody  $  funeral  may  take  place  very  soon. 

Stepping  into  my  office  on  my  way  up-town,  who 


186  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

should  I  find  seated  there  awaiting  me,  but  Mr. 
Nathan.  When  I  was  too  broken-hearted  to  leave 
my  house,  and  too  miserable  to  attend  to  business, 
(which  ordinarily  helps  to  detract  a  man  from  his 
sorrows),  Nathan  had  avoided  me ;  sending  me 
telegrams  and  letters,  wherein  he  claimed  to  be  sick, 
unable  to  go  out,  etc.  To-day,  when  I  knew  him  to 
be  mine  enemy,  and  when  I  intended  hunting  him  up 
anyhow,  he  presented  himself.  I  could  hardly  keep 
from  making  a  grab  at  him.  I  felt  like  squeezing  the 
dog's  life  out  of  him.  His  greeting  prevented  me ! 

"  Robert,  I  am  so  sorry  for  you  !  You  have  probably 
heard  of  my  calling  on  Edith,  and  ostensibly  working 
in  her  interests  against  you.  It  is  not  true.  I  have 
called  on  her,  and  I  intend  continuing  my  calls(unless 
you  say  otherwise),  but  I  want  you  to  understand 
they  are  solely  in  your  interest" 

Hypocrite  !  Ananias  !  Dog  that  he  was;  he  had 
reduced  the  science  of  lying  to  such  a  fine  point,  that 
he  verily  almost  made  me  believe  him.  Almost,  but 
not  quite  ! 

After  a  long  conversation.  I  finally  got  him  to 
understand  unless  I  personally  requested  it,  I  wished 
him  to  discontinue  visiting  my  wife.  He  promised 
to  do  so. 

I  then  thought  of  my  position.  Here  I  was,  at  the 


A    NEW    ENQLAN1)    WOMAN.  187 

age  of  thirty-four,  a  young  man  yet,  with  the  future 
apparently,  all  before  me.  But  what  a  future  it 
was? 

As  I  have  before  stated,  I  had  been  successful. 
Success  had  made  me  arrogant,  imperative  and 
possibly,  in  my  treatment  of  others,  somewhat  harsh. 
I  was  proud — a  very  proud  man.  I  was  proud  of  my 
business,  proud  of  my  reputation,  proud  of  my 
children,  proud  of  my  home,  but  proudest  of  all,  of 
my  wife.  Knowing  well,  the  immutability  of  things 
earthly,  I  had  often  thought  I  might  lose  my  business, 
lose  my  friends,  lose  my  children,  aye  !  even  lose  my 
wife ;  but,  as  long  as  life  remained,  I  felt  surer  of  her 
than  of  all  else  besides.  When  I  met  her,  I  looked 
upon  her,  as  the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  life  to  me.  In 
thinking  of  the  possibility  of  losing  her,  I  had 
thought  the  world  itself,  would  then  be  lost  to  me. 

Here  I  had  actually  lost  Aer,and  although  she  was 
alive,  I  was  dead  to  her. 

Many  years  before  that,  I  had  read  in  a  legal 
friend's  office  a  just  granted  "  Decree  of  Divorce,  " 
•wherein  the  words  occurred  and  she  may  regard  him 
as  dead. 

Dead,  dead,  dead  !     Divorced,  divorced,  divorced  ! 

These  words  haunted  me.  They  were  ever  before 
me.  Saturday  came  around.  I  could  not  make  up 


188  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

my  mind.  I  wanted  anything,  anything  but  a 
divorce.  I  wrote  a  long  letter.  I  was  afraid  it 
might  be  intercepted.  From  what  Al  had  told  me 
about  Edith's  mother,  I  thought  she  was  at  the 
bottom  of  my  wife's  desire  for  a  divorce.  I  took  this 
letter  to  Dollars,  requesting  'him  to  give  it  to 
Charmer,  and  have  Charmer  give  it  to  my  wife  in 
person  only.  Dollars  read  my  letter. 

"It  will  never  do,''  he  said.  "  In  case  you  decide 
to  fight;  it  will  be  used  against  you." 

He  made  me  re- write  one,  to  conform  to  which, 
the  following  was  kept  as  a  record. 

EDITH, 

Until  yesterday  I  felt  aggrieved.  No  replies  to  my  lettej  s 
had,  I  thought,  stifled  love.  I  find  it  otherwise.  Loving  you 
is  part  of  my  being.  I  cannot  help  it.  I  have  tried  to  cast 
you  from  me.  I  cannot !  When  I  saw  Mr.  Charmer,  my  heart 
seemed  frozen.  I  was  willing  to  agree  to  anything.  Since  then, 
the  thought  of  an  eternal  separation  has  deprived  me  of  all 
life.  It  will  break  my  heart.  The  thought  of  your  being  alone, 
unnerves  me.  If  your  mother  and  father  die,  whom  will  you 
have  ?  You  seem  to  hate  me  !  Let  us  agree  on  a  separation. 
Through  your  lawj^ers  if  we  must ;  between  ourselves  if  you 
will.  Do  not,  do  not  deprive  me  of  the  right  to  watch  you 
from  afar,  to  provide  for  you  as  my  Jieart  wants  to,  not  as  a 
divorce  might  require  me  to.  I  do  not  think  you  contemplate 
re-marriage.  If  you  did,  I  would  acquiesce.  So  what  good  in 
a  divorce  ?  Think  of  our  children  ;  think  of  Enid,  and  rest 
assured  I  will  naver  thrust  myself  upon  you,  and  will  never 
ask  you  to  ever  even  see  me,  until  possibly  at  such  time  as  death 
may  call  me  to  a  happier  future.  YOUR  HUSBAND. 


A   NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN.  180 

Dollars  took  this  letter. 

"  I  hardly  think  it  will  do  any  good,"  he  said,  "but 
I  understand  your  feelings,  I  respect  them." 

There  was  no  reply  ! 

A  few  days  thereafter,  without  Dollars  being 
aware  of  it,  I  called  on  Mr.  Charmer.  I  asked  him 
if  he  had  given  my  wife  the  letter. 

"  No,  I  sent  it  to  her  by  a  trusty  messenger.  She 
has  just  sent  me  her  reply.  I  am  just  on  the  point 
of  writing  your  attorney." 

"  Mr.  Charmer,"  I  said,  "  you  are  human.  I  am 
guilty  of  every  crime  in  the  decalogue,  but  my  worst 
crime  is  that  of  loving.  I  love  my  wife  !  I  worship 
her  !  Friends  tell  me  to  call  pride  to  the  rescue. 
Maurice  and  Dollars  say  in  all  their  experience,  they 
never  knew  a  man  to  so  love  a  woman.  I  cannot 
help  it !  Before  commencing  proceedings,  which  I 
dread  worse  than  death,  see  my  wife,  try  to  persuade 
her  to  agree  on  a  separation,  I  will  allow  her  three 
thousand,  aye  even  five  thousand  dollars,  instead  of 
eighteen  hundred  dollars  per  annum.  Do  anything, 
but  do  not  force  this  divorce  upon  me!  I  will  pay 
you  thrice  the  sum  you  have  asked ;  you  will  not 
lose  anything,  and  you  will  forever  make  me  your 
friend." 

"Mr.  Fenniraore,"  he  replied,  "I  will  do  what  I  can. 


190  A  KEW  EtiGLAtfr>  WOMAN. 


I  am  surprised  you  love  your  wife  so  deeply  !  I  hare 
never  known  so  great  a  love.  As  a  matter  of  duty 
between  "  man  and  man,"  I  will  do  my  utmost, 
my  everything  to  change  her,  but  I  am  afraid  it  will 
be  useless." 

It  was  useless  ! 

"  The  Old  Guard  dies,  but  never  surrenders." 

A  New  England  Woman  may  love,  and  her  love 
may  die.  If  a  New  England  Woman  hate,  her  hatred 
lives  forever.  A  woman  of  New  England  never 
surrenders. 

In  ancient  Greece,  history  tells  us  there  once 
upon  a  time  lived  a  very  wise  old  man.  He  was 
ungainly  in  looks,  unpopular  with  the  masses,  but 
his  heart  was  golden,  his  mind  one  of  the 
grandest,  the  world  ever  knew.  Happy  indeed  were 
those  who  sat  at  the  feet  of  this  grand  old  man,  and 
imbibed  of  the  truths  that  fell  from  his  lips,  the 
gems  of  thought  that  from  generation  to  generation 
have  been  preserved  as  the  prof  oundest  that  were 
ever  uttered  by  man  only.  This  man's  name 
was  Socrates.  He  had  a  wife.  She  was  called 
Xantippe.  Wonderful  man  that  Socrates  was,  his 
wife  is  said  to  have  been  a  veritable  shrew,  a  very 
virago.  His  life,  it  is  said,  was  made  unbearable  by 
her.  Had  Socrates  lived,  and  had  he  been  able  to 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  191 

have  chosen  in  this  the  nineteenth  century  'twixt  a 
Xantippe  and  a  New  England  Woman,  I  verily 
believe — granted  this  man  the  philosopher  we  take 
him  for— he  would  have  chosen  Xantippe  and 
Xantippe  ten  times  over,  rather  than  a  daughter  of 
New  England,  such  as  Edith  Fennimore. 

I  think  I  have  spoken  of  my  never  having  had  a 
word  with  my  wife.  Excepting  on  the  occasion  of  her 
return  from  the  country,  we  never  even  had  a 
quarrel.  She  was  apparently  perfectly  content  to 
live  in  the  quiet  enjoyment  of  the  good  and  easy 
things  of  life.  Excepting  in  the  case  of  severe 
sicknesses,  she  invariably  left  our  children  in  the 
care  of  the  nurses,  or  to  their  own  devices.  Seldom 
did  she  ever  take  them  out !  When  we  went 
driving,  I  would  be  the  one  who  would  want  to  take 
them  along,  not  she.  Many  a  time  would  she  even 
protest  against  my  doing  so,  but  never  strongly 
enough  for  me  to  think  her  even  serious,  and  after  a 
life  of  ten  years  spent  with  a  woman  who  never 
seemed  to  have  a  will  of  her  own  at  all,  it  seemed 
inexplicable,  unexplaiuable,  incomprehensible  to  find 
her  so  firmly  set  in  her  ways. 

All  of  a  sudden  I  recollected !  Loving  peace, — 
most  men  love  peace  more  than  women — I  had, 
thinking  the  contrary,  asserting  the  opposite,  per- 


192  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

mitted  my  wife  to  usurp  the  reins,  and  whereas  I 
had  gone  my  way,  I  had  allowed  her  to  do  the  thinking, 
while  I  did  the  talking,  and  all  the  time  she  was  as 
much  going  her  way,  as  I  was  going  mine. 

"Put  a  beggar  on  horseback,  and'' — everybody 
knows  the  rest.  Give  a  woman  an  inch,  and  she 
will  take  an  ell.  Let  a  man  worship  a  woman,  let 
him  show  it,  let  him  for  an  instant  —  if  only  once— 
give  the  woman  the  bit  and  gad,  the  veriest  angel 
will  become  a  very  termagant.  Man  loves  power, 
because  God  gave  it  to  him.  "  A  true  man 
seldom  misuses  it."  "  Women  love  power,  because 
it  does  not  belong  to  them."  Let  opportunity  but 
once  put  it  within  their  grasp,  and  grim  death  itself 
can  hardly  loosen  their  grip. 

Edith  Fennimore,  in  some  way  or  other,  had 
gained  the  "  whip  hand,"  and  Solomon  Nathan 
was  right  when  he  told  me :  'If  you  went  to  her 
with  pistol  in  hand,  and  told  her  you  would  blow 
out  your  brains ;  blow  out  your  brains  you  would ; 
she  would  never  yield.'' 


CHAPTER   XXV. 


In  the  meantime,  my  home  had  become  positively 
hateful  to  me.  I  left  it  in  the  care  of  servants, 
offered  it  for  rent,  and  placed  my  two  little  ones, 
(the  baby  having  been  sent  to  the  mother,)  in  the 
care  of  one  of  my  sisters. 

Talking  of  the  servants ;  my  old  cook  suggested  I 
leave  the  house!  In  my  misery,  she  as  well  as  the  rest 
of  them,  truly  felt  for  me.  My  wife  and  I  had  always 
treated  our  servants  well,  my  wife  actually  leaving 
the  management  of  the  entire  house  to  them,  and  in 
a  joking  vein,  when  finding  fault  (as  I  occasionally 
had  to),I  once  told  her  when  she  died,  I  would  erect 
a  monument  to  her  memory,  and  inscribe  it:  "  She 
lived  for  her  servants  /"  Of  the  two,  she  probably 
was  the  easier  with  them.  In  consequence,  their 
sympathy,  silent  as  it  was,  will  ever  be  a  grateful 
memory  to  me.  They  knew  she  was  wrong !  I 
heard  later  they  had  told  some  friends  "  they  had 


194  A  NEW  ENGLAND  WOMAN". 

lived  in  many  families,  but  never  in  one  where  there 
was  less  bickering  and  a  kinder  husband,  than 
their  master."  In  the  world  to  come  we  are  judged 
by  our  lives  !  In  this  world  we  can  meet  no  better, 
no  juster  judges,  than  the  servants  or  the  people  we 
employ  ! 

I  moved  to  the Hotel,  and  shortly  after  doing 

so,  Judge  Dollars  wrote  me ;  all  questions  as  to  a 
"JVew  England  Woman"  yielding  were  settled,  and 
it  only  remained  for  him  and  Mr.  Charmer  to  agree 
on  figures.  I  then  thought  I  would  play  my  master 
stroke !  Every  one  of  my  friends  had  interested 
himself,  or  herself  in  some  way  or  other  in  my 
behalf.  At  least  half  a  dozen  undertook  to  call  and 
reason  with  my  wife.  One  old  lady,  after  consider 
able  difficulty  in  seeing  her  at  all,  actually  told  me 
she  went  on  her  knees  and  begged  my  wife  to  relent. 
That  Edith  however  proved  adamant !  She  went  to 
her  again  with  a  message.  Of  no  use  !  You  might, 
as  well  appeal  to  marble,  as  to  Edith,  she  told  me  ! 
I  had  written  letters  by  the  score.  At  this  date  it 
seems  to  me  I  should  have  kept  back,  perhaps  not 
written  so  much,  but  at  that  time  I  could  hardly 
reason.  I  acted  solely  under  impulse,  with  one 
object  in  view — my  ship  was  foundering.  I  tried  to 
save  it ! 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  195 

It  was  then,  I  conceived  the  idea  of  selling  my 
household  effects  at  auction.  I  thought  if  anything 
could,  a  public  sale  would,  bring  my  wife  to  her 
senees,  as  I  knew  she  valued  some  of  our  belongings. 
I  placed  the  matter  in  Ludlow's  hands. 

Two  days  after  the  sale  had  been  announced,  my 
attorneys  wrote  me  Mr.  Charmer  had  been  instructed 
to  demand  certain  things  which  my  wife  considered 
hers. 

"  She  can  have  them  !  "  I  replied. 

A  day  or  two  thereafter,  another  demand  came  in 
the  shape  of  a  request  from  her,  to  be  permitted  to 
go  through  the  house  with  me  and  select  such 
further  articles  as  she  considered  hers.  I  acquiesced 
merely  stipulating  she  come  alone,  positively 
refusing  to  have  her  come  with  her  parents,  as  I 
would  not  breathe  the  same  air  they  did,  as  up  to  that 
time,  I  had  attributed  all  my  troubles  directly  or 
indirectly  to  the  mother,  and  felt  very  bitter  against 
her  father  for  his  want  of  manliness  in  refusing  to 
meet  me  in  answer  to  my  telegraphic  message. 

On  the  day  appointed,  I  was  at  the  house  early. 
Shortly  thereafter,  one  of  Mr.  Charmer's  clerk's 
appeared,  and  stating  he  had  come  to  help  Mrs.  F. 
if  she  required  him,  I  could  hardly  restrain  myself 
from  telling  the  fellow  his  room  was  better  than  his 


196  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

company.  When  Edith  arrived,  I  happened  to  be 
engaged  with  a  party  who  had  come  to  see  me  in 
reference  to  the  auction  ;  so  merely  acknowledging 
my  slight  involuntary  bow,  she  took  a  seat  beside 
Mr.  Charmer's  clerk.  As  soon  as  I  could,  I  told  her 
I  hardly  thought  she  needed  the  services  of  the 
gentleman  ;  and,  on  her  acquiescing,  I  showed  him 
the  door.  In  the  least  constrained  manner  possible, 
I  then  requested  her  to  go  through  the  house,  and 
select  what  she  wished. 

"  That's  mine,  that's  mine,  this  is  mine  !  I  do  not 
know  whether  you  consider  that  mine,  or  not  ; "  and, 
thusly  she  went  through  the  entire  house,  while  in 
every  instance  where  she  expressed  a  doubt,  I 
promptly  said : 

"  It  is  yours."" 

After  we  had  spent  over  an  hour  in  this  way,  and 
not  a  word  having  been  spoken  on  .any  other  subject, 
I  said : 

"  Now,  Edith  ;  since  you  have  selected  all  you 
want,  let  me  just  have  a  few  minutes  conversation 
with  you,  as  in  view  of  what  has  occurred,  I  do  not 
know  that  we  will  ever  meet  again." 

"  I  do  not  care  to  discuss  the  matter ;  "  she  replied. 

"But  it  is  to  your  own  interest,  child,  and  I 
must  talk !  " 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  197 

Talk  I  did,  and  for  fully  two  hours. 

I  asked  her  the  use  of  a  divorce.     I  said  : 

"  I  do  not  want  to  marry  again,  nor  do  I  believe 
you  do.  So  why  divorce  ourselves  ?  " 

She  replied :  "  I  wish  to  be  divorced,  so  as  to  be 
free." 

"But  you  will  be  free  if  we  are  separated;"  I 
ventured. 

4<  I  do  not  care  to  discuss  the  question  ; "  was  her 
reply. 

"  But  why  do  you  insist  on  a  divorce  ?  I  think  it 
almost  sacriligious  !  Think  of  what  the  world  ,vill 
think  of  ine  !  Think  of  our  children  !  " 

"  It  will  not  affect  our  children  in  any  way ;  "  she 
replied. 

"  Well,  then  ;  think  of  me  !  Think  of  my  honor  !" 

"  Honor  !  what  is  honor  ?  "  she  queried,    **  Pish  !  " 

"  Honor  to  me  is  everything,  Edith  !  "  I  exclaimed. 
"  Honor  to  a  man  is  life ;  life  itself.  Take  honor 
away,  and  a  man  loses  his  own  self  respect,  as  well  as 
that  of  the  world.  For  the  sake  of  honor,  man  will 
risk  all— his  everything.  HONOR  IS  TO  MAN 
WHAT  VIRTUE  IS  TO  WOMAN." 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  Mr.  F.,  but  I  do  not  care  to 
prolong  this  discussion." 

I    then    appealed   to    her  cupidity. 


198  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

"  Instead  of  eighteen  hundred  per  annum,  I  will 
give  you  three  thousand  ;  aye  !  even  five  thousand, 
if  you  remain  my  wife  !  I  will,  furthermore,  furnish 
a  flat  for  you,  as  you  may  wish  it ;  and,  you  can 
depend,  I  will  never,  never  disturb  you — but,  if  I 
furnish  a  flat  for  you,  and  you  discontinue  residing 
with  your  father  and  mother,  I  would  make  one 
stipulation" 

We  were  then  standing  side  by  side,  toasting  our 
feet  in  front  of  a  blazing  hearth  fire.  And  in  her 
slow,  measured  drawl,  she  inquired : 

"  What  is  the  stipulation  ?  " 

"  The  stipulation  is " 

Just  then  I  stopped.  I  would  not,  in  thought  even, 
wound  her.  I  knew  she  was  an  honest  woman.  I 
knew  she  was  pure.  I  would  not,  at  this  important 
crisis,  hint  at  anything  I  had  heard. 

"  I  will  make  no  stipalation  ;  "  I  answered, 

But  she,  woman-like,  suspecting,  or  rather  reading 
my  thoughts,  then  undertook  to  say : 

"I  never  change,  when  once  I  make  up  my  mind. 
I,  however,  want  you  to  thoroughly'understand  what 
I  am  doing,  what  I  have  done,  I  have  done  alto 
gether  by  myself.  I  have  counselled  with  no  one, 
and  taken  nobody's  advice  other  than  my  mother's. 
If  anybody  is  to  blame  for  my  acts,  other  than 


A    N'E\V    KN.ilANI)    WOrfAtf.  19i 

myself,  it  is  my  mother  only.  You  need  not  blame 
Mr.  Charmer,  nor  Mr.  Nathan,  nor  anybody." 
This  she  repeated  two  or  three  times.  She  laid  so 
much  stress, particularly  on  Nathan  having  nothing 
to  do  with  advising  her,  that  mentally  I  thought : 
Methinks  my  lady  protests  too  much. 

As  she  was  about  to  leave  me,  she  said  : 

'•  By  the  way,  Weber  will  call  for  my  Grand,  but 
as  I  did  not  want  to  use  your  name,  I  signed  the 
order — *  Marie  Frankenstein  ! ' 

"  Frankenstein  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  What  did  you 
do  that  for?" 

And  then  I  recollected  this  was  the  name  of 
Nathan's  fraulein,  his  little  boy's  governess  ! 

"  And  why  did  you  use  her  name?  "  I  repeated, 
and  on  my  wife  telling  me  it  was  the  first  one  she 
thought  of,  the  first  that  had  come  to  her  mind,  I 
exclaimed : 

"  If  my  name  was  not  good  enough,  did  you  not 
have  your  mother's — your  father's?  Did  you  have 
to  use  that  of  my  enemy's  servant  ?  A  few  minutes 
ago,  when  about  making  a  stipulation,  I  said  :  '  No,  I 
would  not  make  any  ; '  Now  hear  me  !  I  do  make 
one  ;  and,  that  stipulation  is  *  You  stop  and  discon 
tinue  all  acquaintance  and  communication  with 
Nathan,  while  you  are  my  wife,  anyhow;  and. if  you 


200  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

fail  to  do  so,  I  will  take  measures  to  compel  you  to. 

From  the  hard,  set  look  that  again  came  on  her 
face,  I  regretted  my  words,  and  my  anger  subsiding 
about  as  quickly  as  the  words  left  my  lips,  I  said  : 

"  Well !  he  has  promised  not  to  see  you,  anyhow. 
So,  forgive  me,  Edith,  if  I  speak  hastily;  I  am  almost 
out  of  my  mind,  and  partially  breaking  down,"  I 
again  commenced  pleading  with  her.  I  reverted  to 
the  years  gone  by;  to  the  memories  of  the  past;  to  our 
dead  children,  as  well  as  to  our  living  ones  ;  I  even 
spoke  of  the  misery  she  might  entail  on  our  Enid, 
(who  was  to  be  left  to  me)  by  depriving  her  of  her 
mother's  love  and  care.  Just  then,  and  only  then,  I 
fancy  she  melted.  To  this  day,  I  think,  had  I  at  that 
moment  been  able  to  put  my  arms  around  her,  as  in 
days  gone  by,  she  might  have  yielded.  But  although 
I  was  trying  my  best  to  persuade  her,  and  if  the 
whole  world  had  then  been  put  before  me,  and  I 
could  have  chosen  'twixt  the  world,  wealth  and  my 
wife,  I  would  have  chosen  my  wife  and  beggary ;  but 
such  is  human  nature,  I  positively  could  not  make  the 
first  move,  while,  if  I  had,  this  book  would  possibly 
never  have  been  written. 

She  left  me  !  I  accompanied  her  to  the  door.  Her 
last  words  were  :  " Understand,  nobody  advised  me" 
and  without  even  offering  me  her  hand,  we  parted. 


A    HEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  201 

I  fell  into  a  chair,  and  long  after  twilight  had 
grown  into  gloaming  I  sat  motionless,  and  in  tears  ! 
It  is  said  in  drowning,  a  man's  whole  life  quickly 
passes  before  him. 

In  misery,  when  a  man's  heart  is  broken,  when  he 
sees  the  work,  the  hopes  of  a  life-time  shattered  and 
wrecked,  when  his  very  soul  is  sinking  within  him,  he 
involuntarily  "  on  the  death  of  hope" — sees  his  whole 
life  pass  in  review,  and  as  1  sat  thus,  crying  aloud  : 

"  Edith,  Edith,  what  have  I  done  ?  Come  back  ! 
Come  back  1  "  I  unconsciously  reviewed  the  life  we 
had  lead. 

We  had  started  together  under  good  auspices.  I 
loved,  I  worshiped ;  She  liked,  she  respected  ! 

I  kept  on  loving  and  worshiping  !  (I  had  shown 
it  too  plainly  !)  She  grew  tired  of  liking  ! 

Dissimilar  as  we  were,  she  had  chafed  under  my 
egoism  in  daring  to  think  that  she  had  grown  to  love 
me.  We  had  been  drifting  apart !  Slowly,  but 
surely  !  The  adulation  I  had  lavished  upon  her,  the 
flattery  of  friends,  the  loving  herself,  which  my  love 
had  encouraged,  had  slowly  born  fruit.  I  plainly  saw , 
on  my  side  it  had  been  "  all  give ; "  on  her  side  "  all 
take."  I  recollected  one  of  her  mother's  letters  ; 
"  You  are  generous  even  to  a  fault ;  forgiving  even 
in  anger." 


202 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 


I  remembered  how  I  had  lavished  all  a  wife  could 
wish  for,  on  Edith. 

I  thought  of  Al's  words,  when  first  seeing  me  in 
my  desolation ;  "To  think  of  the  home  you  gave 
her  !  How  many  women  would  jump  at  the  chance 
of  stepping  into  her  shoes  ! "  Of  his  reminding  me 
of  a  certain  Christmas  when  I  literally  sent  a  wagon 
load  of  goods  to  my  house,  and  when  box  after 
box,  package  after  package  was  brought  to  my  wife, 
how  she  opened  each  one,  and  how,  finally  when  the 
last  bundle  was  brought  forth  and  unpacked,  how 
calm  and  indifferent  she  appeared!  "If  she  had 
loved  you  Robert,  would  she  not  then  have  thrown 
herself  on  your  neck,  as  your  little  Boy  did  when 
you  brought  him  that  immense  horse?  Do  you 
remember  how  he  threw  himself  right  on  your  neck, 
and  exclaimed  :  *  Oh  papa,  papa,  you  are  so  good  ! 
You  are  the  best  papa  in  the  world !  " 

Did  she  ever  do  that?  and,  if  she  loved  you, 
would  she  not  at  least  have  kissed  you  I 

I  thought  of  all  those  things. 

Until  that  moment,  I  had  been  weak.  From  that 
moment,  I  regained  strength ;  and,  whereas  until 
then,  I  had  lived  in  hope,  when  hope  died  within  me 

despair  also  lef  b  me  ;    and,  remembering — 
As  gold  must  be  tried  by  fire, 
So  the  heart  must  be  tried  by  pain  j 


A    NEW    ENiil.VND    WOMAN.  203 

I  then  ami  there  resolved,  come  what  will,  from 
thenceforth,  I  would  crush  sorrow,  forget  pain,  and 
endeavor,  l>y  apparent  indiflerence,  even  if  divorced, 
eventually  to  win  back,  her,  whom  I  believed  I  had 
\v  rouged. 

A  few  days  thereafter,  my  household  effects  were 
sold.  I  had  reserved  some  paintings,  a  few  rugs,  my 
library,  some  china-ware  and  bric-a-brac  ;  but, 
excepting  some  presents  from  friends,  absolutely 
everything  was  sold,  although  I  had  reserved  some 
property,  which  I  thought  my  wife  would  dislike  to 
lose. 

A  day  or  two  thereafter,  I  received  the  following 
letter  : 

ROBERT  FENNIMOBE,  ESQ. 
MY  DKAK  Siu, 

I  have  just  seen  Mr.  Charmer.  Everything  is  arranged. 
You  are  to  have  Enid,  Mrs.  F.  the  other  children.  Mr.  Charmer 
advises  me,  part  of  his  proof  will  consist  in  your  having  been 

at  the Hotel  with  a  certain  woman  who  was  a  friend  of 

:i  Mr.  B.     Also  of  jrour  having  been  at  the at  various 

times  with  different  married  women.  If  you  want  to  ke<-j)  tin- 
latter  out  of  the  case,  I  would  suggest  your  seeing  Mrs.  M  , 

and  Mrs.  C ,  and  t«  11  tin-in  if  iiuy  one  calls,  from  the  office 

of  Charmer  ami  K- •.  pam,  to  ^'i\t  tht-m  such  information  as 
they  desire. 

Respectfully. 

DOLLARS,   BRANDY    AND    SODA. 

"  Part  of  the  proof  will  consist  of   your  having 


204  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

• 

been  at  the Hotel  with  a  certain  woman,  a  friend 

of  a  Mr.  B.!  " 

Great  God !  I  exclaimed  :  so  that  old  rascal's 
threats  to  my  friend  Julius  were  not  vain.  Because 
out  of  pure  love  of  mischief,  I  inconsiderately  hurt 
an  old  man's  feelings,  he  deliberately  carried  out  his 
threat,  and  probably  wrote  my  wife.  Had  I  known! 
Had  I  known  ! 

How  little  I  did  know. 

The  next  evening,  I  met  Judge  Dollars'  son  at  the 
firsb  performance  of  La  Cigale,  at  the  Garden 
Theatre.  Seats  were  at  a  premium.  Mine  cost  me 
twelve  dollars,  but  I  paid  it  as  I  wanted  to  see  the 
young  man  on  a  matter  of  information  which  had 
just  reached  my  ears. 

All  the  world,  and  everybody  of  any  consequence 
in  New  York,  was  there.  Among  others,  Mr.  Nathan, 
accompanied  by  a  stylishly- dressed,  very  beautiful 
woman.  When  I  felt  his  presence,  (there  seemed  to 
be  something  that  irresistibly  drew  attention  to  him) 
I  almost  cried  out  in  very  joy,  at  not  seeing  him 
accompanied  by  my  wife.  I  had  come  to  the  theatre 
specially  to  see  my  attorney  about  him.  And  here 
he  was  in  the  very  flesh. 

During  the  intermission  after  the  first  act,  I 
greeted  young  Dollars,  and  saying  ;  "  I  heard  to-day, 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  205 

in  a  round  about  way,  Nathaii  is  again  visiting  my 
wife ;  "  Dollars  smilingly  said  : 

'•Why,  yes,"  "not  alone  that,  but  he  is  the  one  who 
is  your  wife's  only  witness!  He  is  the  one  who  told 
her  about  Mr.  B.'s  friend  ;  about  the  married  women 
you  took  to  the  etc.,  etc." 

Dollars  had  hardly  said  this  much,  when  Nathan 
ran  right  into  us. 

"Sol,  see  here,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Hello,"  he  cried,  "  you  here  ?"  and  extending  his 
hand,  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  from  jumping 
at  him,  and  then  and  there  administering  the  booting 
and  kicking  he  deserved.  Refusing  his  hand, 
looking  him  steadily  in  the  eye,  he  noticed  from  the 
curl  of  my  lip,  from  the  glance  of  withering  con 
tempt  I  cast  upon  him,  that  at  last  I  had  discovered 
him  in  his  true  colors,  but — true  to  his  macchiavdian 
education,  true  to  his  lying  cowardly  nature — he 
again  managed  to  almost  make  me  doubt  facts,  at 
any  rate  as  far  as  his  devilish  machinations  were 
concerned. 

"  Vat's  de  matter  ?  "  he  exclaimed  in  his  broken 
English. 

"  Matter  !  "  I  answered.     "  You  are   a  —         ! 

"  See  here,  dat  von't  do !  I  see  your  friendt, 
Mishter  Dollars  is  here;  he  ish  a  lawyer,  and 


206  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

aldough  he  ish  yours,  you  must  not  say  dat  again." 
"  No,    don't,"  interposed  Dollars  as  lie  was  about 

turning  off,  with  a  half  concealed  smile. 

"Well  I  won't,"  I  answered,  "but  I  want  you  here 

Dollars.      Understand  now,   you   dog,   (turning  to 

Nathan)  I  have  found  you  out !     If  I  hear  further 


"  Vat  ish  de  matter  ?  Exblain  yourself !  Mr. 
Dollars,  vat  dosh  he  mean  ?  " 

"  Mean !  "  I  roared,  (and  quite  a  crowd  had  by 
this  time  gathered  around  us),  "  mean,"  I  yelled, 
"  why,  I  mean  you  are  at  last  found  out,  and  I  mean 
either  to  stop  you  right  here,  or " 

"  Mr.  Fennimore,"  then  interposed  Dollars.  "  Do 
not  forget  yourself!  He  means — turning  to  Nathan 
*— that  he  has  been  informed,  you  are  the  man  who 
has  been  giving  all  the  information  that  Mrs. 
Fennimore  has  secured;  that  you  have  acted  the 
part  of  a  scoundrel." 

•'  Who  says  dat  I     It's  a  lie." 

"  Mr.  Charmer  says  so  !"  I  exclaimed. 

"It's  a  lie;  it's  not  drue;  I  vil  go  to-morrow  to 
Mishter  Charmer  mit  you,  or  I  vil  get  your  vife  to 
Write  you  dat  I  am  innocent,  dat  she  received  a 
annonymous  letter  from  a  barty  vitch  set  her 
Unking  about  de  matter,  and  as  I  dold  you  vatever 


A    NE\V     1.N..1.AM'     V.M.MAN.  'JllT 

1  have  done,  I  did  mit  a  hope  to  help  you,  and  hoc 
I  ;uu  to-day  mit  auoder  lady.  dUli  very  day  your 
vifo  sent  me  vord  to  come  over  and  see  her  at  do 
Astor  lloux-,  vitdi  I  did,  but  I  den  told  lu-r  I  vas 
now  disgusted,  dat  she  ought  to  go  back  to  you." 

"  She  sent  for  you  ! "  I  asked.     What  for  ?  " 

"  She  vanted  some  advice.  Her  farder  vas  oud  of 
down,  uud  she  tought  I  could  doll  her  vat  to  do 
about  certain  life  bolicies,  und  so  fort." 

Thus  he  kept  on  trying  to  get  away  from  my 
indignation  and  wrath,  and  finally  he  said  ; 

"  I  vill  gjt  Edit  to  write  you  a  letter  to-morro.v 
justifying  me,  dat  I  am  no  tale  bearer,  und  your 
friendt." 

With  that  he  disappeared  behind  an  usher,  and 
made  his  way  to  his  orchestra  stall. 

When  I  reached  my  hotel,  I  could  not  sleep.     I 
wrote  the  following  letter  ; 
EDITH, 

Aud  now  I  know  an  anonymous  l.-ttn  ,  -which  a  bhu-k^imrd 
sent,  was  at  the  bottom  <>l"  your  s'-miin^  hard-hearteduess  ; 
ami,  hail  you  confronted  me  with  it.  I  would  h,r.<-  und.  rM-M-d 
till.  Had  you,  however,  known  what  I  said,  when  a  senile  old 
scoundrel  told  others  lie  would  write  you,  your  heart  would 
have  responded  to  th--  faith  I  had  in  you.  Erred.  I  may  have  ; 
misunderstood  y»u  I  s.  .  I  have;  but,  wicked  against  you,  I  have 
never  been.  To-night  I  was  at  /,-'  Ci •/,.'',  ;  my  thoughts,  my 
In-art  were  vith  you.  It  is  the  first  time  in  years  I  have  been 
at  a  first  production  without  you.  Wife,  wife  !  I  cannot  forget 


208  A    NEW   ENGLAND   WOMAN. 

you  !  You  won't  have  me.  You  shan't  1  It's  a  month  since 
you  left  me,  and  I  am  not  changed.  My  tears  scald  me.  They 
come  from  my  soul.  I  won  you  because  I  loved  you  ;  I  was 
willing  to  die  for  you.  If  you  wish  it,  I'll  die  for  you  to-day — 
Edith,  my  heart  is  breaking  !  To  spare  you,  I  have  sinned  ; 
but,  never  has  any  one  -not  even  our  children — had,  from  me, 
the  love  their  mother  has.  I  would  see  other  women  :  scorn 
all,  kiss  none ;  because  I  loved,  nay !  worshiped  you.  All  I 
have  done  has  been  mis-represented  to  you.  Everything  has 
been  contorted.  Your  father,  your  mother  care  for  you. 
There  is  only  one  heart  that  loves  you.  The  man  whose 
advice  you  ask,  whom  you  sent  for,  to  meet  you  at  the  Astor 
House,  tells  me  to  forget  you  ;  says  even  he  is  disgusted  with 
you.  But  my  heart  will  not  change.  It  was  yours  when  I 
first  saw  you.  When  you  wanted  me  to  leave  you,  I  did'nt 
know  why;  I  asked  you  what  I  had  done.  You  said  enough  1 
More  than  enough,  perhaps.  But  I  have  suffered  for  it. 
Wife,  wife !  forgive  me.  I  know  what  heart  you  have,  is  no 
other  man's.  No  soul  can  blacken  you  to  me.  ***** 
You  can  have  a  flat,  you  can  have  everything  I  can  give  you. 
You  can  live  alone.  You  can  punish  me  as  you  wish,  but 
don't,  don't  let  us  be  divorced.  I  have  said,  *  I  pity  you.' 
I don't  !  Pity  me!  You  know  how  I  love  you.  You  can't 
have  forgotten  everything  !  I  appealed  to  you  for  our  children's 
sake.  It  was  useless  I  Let  me  appeal  to  you  by  the  love  a  boy 
bore  a  girl ;  for  the  sake  of  the  only  good  in  me,  let  the 
woman  forgive  the  ruan.  And  were  I  to  die  to-night,  my  love 
for  you  would  take  me  from  the  very  gates  of  hell.  Whatever 
I  have  done  was  thoughtless.  Even  in  my  anger  against  you, 
my  love  showed  itself.  As  to  you !  Can  any  woman  have 
stabbed  a  man  deeper  ?  Where  I  have  been  thoughtless  :  my 
wrongs  were  my  excuse.  Have  you  however  not  been  deliberate, 
unforgiving  ?  Were  any  proofs  needed  as  to  the  purity  of  my 
love,  the  life  I  have  led  since  you  left  me,  speaks  for  itself. 
That  love  asks  nothing,  it  permeates  my  every  thought,  it  is 
given  to  you,  as  yours  is  to  your  baby.  It  sanctifies  the  breath 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  209 

I  draw.  Accuse  me  of  everything,  but  stop  !  stop  !  before  you 
break  the  heart  you  have  crushed.  I  will  write  you  110  <  \pln- 

natiou  as  to  the Hotel  affair,  but  I  will  swear,  before  tho 

party  went  there  with  me,  and  then,  occupied  entirely 
separate  apartments,  I  took  her  to  her  house  before  eleven, 
and  found  the  doors  locked  against  her.  This  I  could  prove 
by  our  cabman  ;  and,  in  taking  her  away  from  the  blackguard 
who  wrote  you,  I  did  so  with  no  thought  of  wrong  doing,  but 
merely  to  satisfy  a  whim— a  caprice.  Young  and  beautiful  she 
was  ;  but,  I  no  more  cared  for  her,  or  spent  more  than  a  few 
hours  with  her,  than  I  ever  did  care  for  any  woman  since  I 
knew  you.  Admire  them  I  might!  Appeal  they  might  t<»my 
worser  self ,  but  the  rock  my  faith  was  grounded  ;>n.  was  the 
woman  I  supposed  an  angel  ;  and,  had  I  known  you  objected, 
had  I  thought  you  cared,  you  know  1  would  //<"<  l»<  />  fr>t>,  nx 
well  as  honest.  The  worst  that  can  be  said,  you  know  I  told 
you.  Stop,  think  and  remember. 

YOUR     HU8UAND. 

This  letter  I  dispatched  early  the  next  morning. 
It  was  returned  by  my  messenger  unopened. 

About  an  hour  later,  Edith   sent  me  by  a  special 

messenger  the  following  letter  : 

ZVacfojr. 

Just  received  the  enclosed  from  Sol.  To  do  him  justice,  I 
am  compelled  to  write  :  Sol.  never  gave  me  any  information  of 
wrong  doing.  I  was  advised  by  a  letter,  and  found  out  many 

evidences,  not  alone  of  the Hotel  affair,  but  of  a  great  many 

others.  I  had  decided  on  my  course  before  I  saw  Sol.  He 
tried  very  hard  to  persuade  me  to  alter  my  decision.  Under 
no  circumstances,  would,  or  could  I  have  changed  this  decision. 
It  has  been,  and  is  unalterable. 

EDITH. 

The  enclosed  was  a  letter  from  Nathan  to  my 
wife.  It  read  ; 


210  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

Tuesday  Morning. 
DEAR  EDITH, 

I  saw  Robert  last  night,  and  lie  accused  me  of  giving  you 
first  information  about  certain  things  at  the  —  —  Hotel.  He 
told  me  Mr.  Charmer  had  said  so.  Since  I  have  failed  to  bring 
you  together  again,  I  have  been  accused  of  so  many  things, 
since  this  wretched  affair  has  been  going  on,  that  I  ought  not 
to  be  surprised  about  anything.  Still,  out  of  justice  to  me, 
you  ought  to  write  Robert,  and  tell  him  the  truth,  and  how 
you  got  your  information,  and  everything  necessary  hereto. 
Everybody  seems  to  take  advantage  of  the  ten  days  of  fury 
and  indignation  I  have  been  in,  after  hearing  of  certain  things 
that  vile  woman  (your  friend)  has  tried  to  make  Robert  believe. 
While  I  might  have  said  a  great  many  hard  words  against  him 
at  that  time,  and  done  things,  which,  otherwise,  I  would  not 
have  done,  and,  though  not  remembering  everything  that 
passed  in  that  time,  and  the  words  I  have  spoken,  I  trust,  for 
old  friendship's  sake,  not  to  appeal  to  you  in  vain,  in  asking 
you  to  right  my  position.  I  wished  I  had  never  anything  to  do 
with  this  very  unfortunate  matter,  but  I  beg  of  you  to  tell 
Robert  the  truth.  Please  kindly  send  your  answer  to  Robert, 
with  the  same  boy  I  send  you  this  with. 

Truly  yours, 

SOL. 

Two  words  struck  me,  "first  information''  So 
in  appealing  to  my  wife  to  "  right  him,"  he  wanted 
her  to  write  he  had  not  been  ihe  first  to  give  infor 
mation.  Coward,  scoundrel,  informer,  I  ejaculated. 
And  yet  the  difference  ! 

My  wife  received  letters  from  him.  Mine  she 
returned  unopened. 

Why? 


A    NK\V    1.N..1..VNU    WOMAN. 

I  then  bethought  myself. 

A  few  days  before  that,  I  had  sent  her  a  letter  of 
which  the  following  is  a  copy. 

So  all  is  over!     The  appeal  of  a  father  lias  been  as  futile 
as  thr   heart   c-rieM   of   a   husband,  an.l   in    the    wife's  BOnl  she 

kin. \\.  her   husband    oared    for    n«.    woman    but    his  wife,  and 

that  when  years  ago  he  told  her  another  woman  loved  him, 

he  added  he  i-ould  only   care   for  tin-   woman   \vh«»  was  then  at 
hi-  side.     Ami  why  ? 

Hud  my  wife  died  bef,,re  September  H»th,  my  In-art 
would  have  been  broken.  Never  conl.l  1  ha\«-  look.-.l  upon 
«.th.-r  women  a^ain,  ami  in  my  soul  a  tablet  would  hav 
been  erected  to  her  memory  that  would  imvu  lift«-d  me  ah<,v«- 
my  fellowmeu.  I  would  have  looked  upon  her  as  up«.n  an 
ttngel.  I  would  have  been  crushed  when  the  rarth  was  hud 
o'er  her  grave,  ami  my  heart  would  have  been  buried  with 
her.  Why?  Because  of  the  love  she  show* -d  nu- ?  !• 
of  the  affection  she  had  b«-*t«. \\.-d  up»n  me?  Tliiid;  in  all 
our  years  of  married  life,  I  never  even  had  a  flower,  •  x.-.-ptin^ 
when  si.-k,  from  my  wife  :  No  !  My  hearl  would  have  been 
buried,  because  I  looked  upon  her  as  my  better  self,  the  part 
of  myself  I  loved  best,  the  one  thing  in  the  world  that  I  knew 
would  be  true,  true  till  death,  and  in  the  henafi.r.  How  I 
have  been  fooled!  For  five  years  I  have  hud  no  husband,  1 
hear.  How  about  the  vife  ?  In  all  the  yean  of  onr  married 
life,  I  cannot  re«-ail  a  \oluntary  ki.-s.  neith.-r  fan  I  reeall  a 
smile  of  love,  or  an  embrace  that  1  had  not  lirst  be^ed  for. 
Do  you  suppose  I  have  tukeii  this  step  without  thinking  ''.  I  "> 
you  suppose  I  don't  know  what  I  am  about  ?  Yes  indeed,  yon 
do  and  thank  heaven  I  have  learned  what  I  have.  Friends  tell 
me  lam  young.  At  thirty-foiirm->st  men  commence  to  think  of 
marriage,  while  a  woman  at  thirty  is  pauee.  Th.-y  t.-li  me  ! 
ou-ht  to  thank  my  Bl  fonndyonontintime.  Wehave 

ppenl  a  thir.l  of  ,,ur  life  together.      In   fiift,  if  We  except  fluid- 


212  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

hood,  over  half  our  lives  have  been  npent  together,  and  in  all 
those  years  we  had  no  differences,  and  I  always  thought 
you  dutiful,  excepting  in  your  chief  duty.  I  did  not  know 
you !  All  of  a  sudden  you  turn  !  Like  a  tigress  you  rend  my 
heart !  A  criminal  can  be  pardoned  sooner  than  a  woman  who 
turns  as  you  did  on  me.  I  was  dazed  !  Instead  of  abusing 
you,  maltreating  you,  as  perhaps  I  should  have  done,  I  became 
the  woman.  I  wept,  I  plead,  I  entreated.  Before  we  were 
married  you  read  "  Bayard  Taylor's,  Soldier  and  the  Pard  "  to 
me.  The  Pard  loved  !  Tiring  of  love,  the  man  plunges  full 
home,  a  dagger  down  her  neck,  and  the  poor  Pard,  with  a  look 
of  agony,  and  silent  reproach,  gives  a  gasp  and  dies.  Think  of 
the  soldier's  remorse,  and  think  of  the  daggers  you  have  driven 
into  me  !  If  I  could  die,  I  would.  Death  would  have  been 
preferable  a  thousand  times  to  the  awful,  awful  heart-ache  I 
have.  People  tell  me  to  call  pride  to  the  rescue,  but  when  a 
heart  has  loved  as  I  have,  there  is  no  pride,  no  nothing  to 
appeal  to.  I  would  rather  be  an  outcast,  a  wanderer  on  the 
face  of  the  earth,  than  live  again  with  you  as  we  have  lived, 
but  in  the  watches  of  the  night  when  your  conscience  troubles 
you,  as  I  know  it  will,  think,  think  of  the  heart  you  have 
thrust  from  you.  I  forgive,  because  you  know  not  what 
you  do,  I  forgive  because  I  know  your  baby's  sickness 
turned  your  head,  and  because  of  the  unintentional  wrong 
done  you.  Had  I  lost  my  business,  had  my  children  all  died, 
had  you  died  I  could  not  have  been  as  miserable  as  your  doings 
have  made  me.  "  God's  will  be  done,"  would  have  been  my 
cry.  I  would  have  felt  badly.  I  would  have  wept,  but  my 
heart  would  not  have  been  pierced  as  it  is.  In  two  months  I 
hear,  I  will  be  over  it,  and  your  lovely  mother  has  said  that 
I  am  awake  nights,  because  I  am  carousing  with  other  women  1 
I  have  been  looking  over  some  of  the  numerous  letters  she 
sent  me  before  I  married  you.  In  them  she  tells  me  you  are 
not  worthy  of  me,  tells  me  she  told  you  so,  tells  me  I  am  too 
generous,  too  good,  too  forgiving !  She  tells  me  of  your 
faults,  and  she  tells  me  she  respects  me  and  regards  me  too 


A    KK\V    KN(JLANl)    WOMAN.  213 

highly  to  want  me  to  put  my  trust  iu  a  girl  who  does  not  know 
her  own  mind.  And  then  I  have  read  yoiir  letters,  and  a  draft 
of  the  letter  I  sent  you  before  you  said  the  little  word  '"Come" 
and  you  told  me  you  hoped  it  would  make  me  as  happy  as  it 
Hid  you  to  say  it.  As  I  have  not  looked  at  these  letters  in 
almost  eleven  years,  I  was  amazed  to  find,  according  to  them 
you  seemed  to  care  very  much  for  me  indeed,  and  whereas  you 
did  not  think  you  could  ever  love  me  as  I  did  you,  you  cared 
more  for  me  than  for  anybody  else  in  the  world.  And  then 
in  one  of  your  early  letters  you  write  me  you  have  not  ch<tu<jt<l 
your  mind,  nor  trill  you  ever,  just  as  in  the  one  I  received  from 
you,  which  you  gave  to  niy  Enid  to  give.  But  what's  the 
good  ?  The  law  will  take  its  course,  and  wherein  I  have 
wronged  you  without  justification,  my  heart  asks  forgiveness. 
Ask  yourself,  have  I  nothing  to  forgive  ? 

As  there  is  a  h&tren  above  us  Edith,  out  of  Hie  deepest  misery 
I  hate  ever  endured,  I  pity,  I pity  the  woman  I  call*  < I  /rift . 

You  have  a  heart — it  may  be  dead  to  me — I  may  be  to  bhimo 
for  it,  but  the  day  will  come — the  night— your  torpor  cannot 
last  forever,  and  when  you  awaken  I  pity  the  misery  you 
are  bringing  upon  yourself.  When  that  awakening  comics, 
when  your  heart  is  breaking,  send  for  me,  or  come  to  me.  I 
will  take  you  by  the  hand,  I  will  look  you  in  the  face,  and  I 
will  forgive  as  I  hope  to  be  forgiven. 

I  commenced  this  letter,  meaning  to  forward  it  after  we  were 
divorced,  but  when  I  think  of  our  children,  of  the  stigma  we 
will  be  putting  upon  them,  I  cannot  but  make  another  appeal. 
You  may  say  it  is  too  late  !  It  may  be  too  late  to  undo  what  you 
have  done,  but  as  yet  you  have  not  been  guilty  of  signing  a 
document  which  your  children  will  never  forgive.  They  are 
mine  as  much  as  yours.  They  have  my  nature  more  than 
yours,  and  for  their  sake  I  am  writing.  You  are  their  mother, 
I  their  father.  No  grandfather,  no  grandmother  can  take  my 
place  with  them  !  You  used  to  tell  me  Roy  loved  me  better 
than  he  did  you.  Do  you  want  our  remaining  children  to  care 
more  for  me  than  they  will  for  you  f  Do  you  want  them  to 


A    NEW    ENGLAND  -WOMAN. 

desert  you,  as  you  have  deserted  me  ?  But  again,  I  am  com 
mencing  to  upbraid.  I  ask  for  pardon.  I  ask  for  forgiveness. 
Live  with  you  I  could  not,  but  do  not  let  us  be  divorced. 
Think  again,  hate  me  as  much  as  you  wish,  but  do  not  bring 
misery  on  our  children,  as  well  as  upon  yourself. 

YOUK  HUSBAND. 

This  letter  had  perhaps  failed  of  its  purpose.  It 
had  taken  me  hours  to  write  it.  I  weighed  well 
what  I  said,  but  the  very  truths  I  brought  home  to 
my  wife,  had  probably  incensed,  and  if  anything, 
the  more  decidedly  hardened  her  heart.  At  any 
rate  Solomon  Nathan's  letters  were  accepted  by  her. 
On  his  account  she  wrote.  My  letters  were  not 
accepted. 

To  me  she  was  dead. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 


'Tis  ever  darkest  just  before  day!  No  cloud  but 
has  its  silver  lining. 

Six  weeks  had  gone  by.  My  misery  had  been 
continual,  continuous.  No  matter  what  I  did,  my 
thoughts  were  always  with  tho  woman  who  had 
deserted  me.  I  was  in  the  depths  !  And  what  made 
me  the  more  miserable  was  the  continual  conscious- 
-  of  "  having  sinned  " 

K-lith  had  been  slandered!  Some  people  there 
were,  who  thought  she  was  in  the  wrong.  All 
thought  she  was  in  love  with  Nathan.  Some  even 
doubted  her  honor.  I  knew  her.  I  knew  she  was 
the  soul  of  honor  itself  !  I  knew  ehe  was  honest ! 
I  kne~A*  she  did  not  care  for  me  !  I  knew  she  hated 
me,  but  I  felt  sure  she  did  not  love  Nathan.  I  was 
fully  convinced  he  loved  her,  but  I  knew  her 
disposition  too  well  not  to  be  sure,  she  could  not 
really  care  for  him. 


216  A    NEW   ENGLAND   WOMAN. 

But  what  made  my  condition  the  more  pitiable 
was  the  impossibility  of  doing  other  than  blame 
myself.  Had  I  been  a  better  man,  she  never  would 
have  left  me,  I  thought.  If  I  am  so  constituted 
that  a  pure,  a  good,  a  noble  woman  like  Edith  can 
not  live  with  me,  what  a  contemptible  man  I  must 
be !  How  I  have  over-rated,  and  over-estimated 
myself  !  How  unlovable  a  man,  I  am  ! 

Thus  I  ever  went  on  communing  with  myself.  My 
pride  should  have  asserted  itself,  my  self-love  should 
have  come  to  the  rescue,  but  because  I  was  so  deeply 
wounded  in  my  pride,  I  walked  with  my  head  bowed, 
in  very  shame,  being  almost  afraid  to  look  my  fellow 
men  in  the  face. 

It  was  while  in  this  mental  state,  that  her  father  one 
day  surprised  me  by  calling  on  me  at  my  office.  His 
first  words  were : 

"  Eobert,  I  would  like  to  talk  to  you." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  sir,"  I  replied,  "excuse  me 
for  a  minute,  and  I  will  be  with  you,"  and  with  that, 
giving  some  orders  to  my  cashier,  I  closed  my  office 
door,  and  invited  Mr.  B.  to  a  seat. 

"  Robert,  do  you  still  care  for  my  daughter  ?  "  was 
his  first  question. 

"Care  for  her  ?  "  I  replied.  "  Have  I  not  always 
cared  for  her,  have  I  not  always  shown  it  ?  " 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  217 

"  Give  me  your  baud  Robert,  you  are  a  prince 
among  men,  I  only  regret  not  having  come  to  you 
before.  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Can  we  not  go 
somewhere  where  we  can  be  away  from  your  business? 
I  have  a  good  deal  to  say." 

"  We  can  go  to  my  hotel,  which  is  only  a  step  from 
here,"  I  replied,  and  closing  my  desk,  I  accompanied 
him  to  the  street.  Hardly  reaching  the  corner,  his 
first  words  were  : 

"  Robert,  I  am  an  old  man,  I  have  always  lived 
right,  my  life  is  not  worth  much  anyhow,  but  there 
are  some  things  flesh  and  blood  cannot  stand.  If 
this  sort  of  thing  continues,  I  may  have  murder  on 
my  soul." 

He  then  went  on  to  tell  me  that  nightly  Nathan 
had  called  on  my  wife.  That  when  finally  put  out 
at  the  front  door,  he  would  come  in  by  the  back  door, 
and  that  whereas  he  believed  my  wife  was  a  true 
woman 

"True  woman,"  I  interrupted!  "I  know  she  is. 
I  even  know  she  does  not  care  for  Nathan." 

"  "Well,  if  she  does  not  care  for  him,  why  does  she 
persist  in  seeing  him,  in  meeting  him,  and  counseling 
continually  with  him,  and  against  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  because  he  exerts  some  kind  of 
hypnotic  influence  over  her." 


218  A    NEW    ENGLAND     WOMAN. 

"  Gad,  that  is  it,"  he  exclaimed.  "  That  is  it !  I  have 
lately  been  reading  about  hypnotism  and  magnetic 
influences.  That  must  be  it!  I  never  thought  of  it 
in  that  way,  but  it  must  be  so." 

From  that  moment  he  became  forever  and  ever  there 
after  a  firm  believer  in  the  power  of  one  being  to  so  in 
fluence  and  control  the  mind  of  another,  that  ifposessed 
of  a  certain  amount  of  animal  magnetism,  one  mind 
could  make  captive  another  mind,  so  as  to  hold 
absolute  undisputed  sway  and  power  over  it  ! 

He  then  asked  me  to  devise  some  plan,  whereby  if 
the  man's  visits  were  discontinued,  she  might  be 
brought  to  her  senses.  He  told  me  that  at  first  both 
her  mother  and  he  had  thought  what  they  had  heard 
about  Nathan  were  calumnies  pure  and  simple,  but 
perceiving  that  he  was  over  anxious  to  testify  against 
me,  Mr.  Charmer,  when  cross-examining  him,  had 
called  Edith's  father  aside  and  said  it  looked  to  him 
as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  conspiracy  between  Nathan 
and  my  wife,  and  that  in  consequence  he  was  afraid, 
since  Nathan  was  her  only  witness, his  very  anxiety  to 
testify  would  militate  against  her,  and  that  unless 
other  proof  could  be  brought  forward,  he  would 
certainly  not  be  able  to  make  out  a  case.  He  further 
told  me,  Nathan  had  interrupted  them  by  exclaiming: 
1  Oh,  he  will  submit  to  a  divorce  quick  enough.  Just 


A     NEW     ENGLAND     WOMAN.  lil'J 

threaten  to  bring  in  certain  married  women,  and  he 
will  quickly  enough  then,  furnish  the  evidence 
himself.' 

Mr.  B.  ended  by  telling  me.  after  that  interview, 
he  had  requested,  demanded,  and  insisted  Nathan 
see  less  of  my  wife,  he  had  even  talked  to  her 
about  it,  and  finally  a  week  before  calling  on  me, 
had  told  Edith  he  would  come  and  see  me,  and  open 
my  eyes,  if  she  herself  did  not  put  a  stop  to  it. 
He  finally  said  a  couple  of  days  before  that,  he  had 
received  a  letter  from  Nathan  which  that  individual 
had  written  after  Mr.  B.  had  positively  closed  his 
doors  to  him. 

"  And  how  about  Edith's  mother?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Edith's  mother  !  why,  she  told  me  only  to-day, 
she  would  rather  see  our  daughter  dead  than  divorced 
from  you,  and  married  to  that  man.  She  hates  the 
very  sight  of  him  !  " 

"  And  why  did  both  she  and  you  act  as  you  did 
when  first  she  left  me  ?  " 

"  Robert,  if  you  had  an  only  daughter,  and  she 
came  to  you,  after  leaving  her  husband;  would  you 
not  stand  by  her  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  would,  but  I  certainly  would  see  my 
son-in-law,  particularly  if  he  was  willing  to  let  me 
and  my  wife  judge  between  him  and  my  daughter." 


220  A   NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

"  Well !  so  I  intended ;  but,  what  is  the  use  of 
talking  of  the  past  ?  " 

"  No  use,  Mr.  B.,"  I  replied ;  "  but  what,  what  did 
I  do  ?  What  does  Edith  complain  of  ?  Does  she  say 
I  was  cruel  to  her  ?  Did  I  ever  strike  her  ?  Did  I 
ever  abuse  her  ?  Was  I  brutal?  Does  she  complain 
of  my  not  gratifying  every  whim,  every  caprice  she 
had "? " 

'•  Not  at  all !  She  complains  of  nothing,  excepting 
of  having  received  some  anonymous  letter,  which  I 
believe  Nathan  sent  anyhow." 

"  And  what  did  that  say  ?     What  did  it  contain  ?  " 

"  The  truth  is,  neither  Charmer  or  I  believe 
she  ever  received  one,  as  she  claims  she  destroyed  it. 
But  whether  she  received  one,  or  not '' 

" She  received  one,"  I  interrupted.  "I  believe  I 
know  whom  to  trace  it  to,  and  it  was  not  sent  by 
Nathan  either." 

I  then  went  on  to  explain  about  the  Casino  affair, 
and  at  length  rehearsed  a  full  and  succinct  history  of 
my  life  with  Edith,  told  of  her  telling  me  so  soon 
after  marriage,  what  she  did.  I  even  read  some  of 
the  letters  I  had  so  recently  sent  her,  also  the  one 
which  she  refused  to  receive,  also  another  one  which 
contained  a  check ;  and,  whereas  Edith's  father 
and  I  had  always  been  good  friends — I  had  always 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN".  '221 

admired  him  for  his  sterling  honesty,  he  me  for  my 
manliness  and  frankness — I  never,  until  that  hour, 
knew  the  depth  of  feeling  the  man  had  within 
him.  I  had  always  thought  him  cold,  austere, 
wrapped  up  in  himself  and  his  thoughts.  I  learned 
otherwise.  I  positively  saw  a  tear  course  down  his 
cheek,  when  I  read  extracts  from  my  last  two 
appeals.  When  I  had  finished,  he  said  ; 

"  Robert,  you  are  a  prince  !  I  was  telling  my  wife 
compared  to  Nathan,  you  were  a  king  among  men. 
All  I  regret  is,  not  coming  to  you  before." 

In  this  way  he  went  on.  What  need  to  go  into 
further  and  more  minute  details  ?  Thanks  to  him,  I 
thought  all  was  not  lost ;  and,  as  at  the  time  I  wrote 
a  letter  to  the  manager  of  my  San  Francisco  house, 
who  happened  to  know  of  some  of  my  troubles,  and 
as  that  letter,  at  my  request,  was  returned  to  me,  I 
submit  it  herewith,  as  in  a  measure  it  rehearses 
briefly  and  succinctly  the  events  therein  described. 

MY  DEAR  JONES  : 

The  reason  you  have  not  heard  from  me  personally  is  : 
The  life  has  been  taken  out  of  me,  my  heart  was  crushed,  I 
was  in  a  semi-commatose  state  for  the  last  five  weeks,  and  have 
only  now  in  a  measure  regained  my  manhood,  my  strength, 
and  only  because  I  havo  been  wronged,  and  more  hashappened 
than  flesh  and  blood  can  stand.  I  think  you  went  away 
Sunday,  September  27.  Wednesday,  September  IHHh,  I  csuiw 
home  and  found  my  wife  gone.  She  sent  me  a  telegram  saying 


A    NEW     ENGLAND     WOMAN. 

she  had  gone  to  her  mother's,  who  was  in  Worcester.  She 
left  me  without  a  word  or  a  scene,  merely  took  a  hand-bag 
with  her,  and  left  the  children  in  the  care  of  the  nurses.  I 
had  been  expecting  it,  but  when  the  blow  came,  I  felt  all  life 
had  left  me.  I  telegraphed  her  father  to  make  her  return  at 
once,  with  her  mother  if  necessary,  and  him  (her  father)  if 
possible,  and  concluded  :  '  will  let  you  two  decide  as  to  our 
future.'  He  wired  me  :  '  Will  see  you  to-morrow.'  He  did 
not  do  so.  I  sent  to  his  office  two  days  thereafter  and  found 
he  was  in  town,  wrote  him  I  expected  him,  and  received 
answer,  "I  cannot  see  you."  I  did  not  know  what  was  brewing. 
I  was  afraid  my  children  might  be  taken  away  from  me,  the 
baby  was  sick,  her  nurse  was  going  to  leave  the  following 
Saturday,  and  I  was  in  the  deepest  misery  I  had  ever  ex 
perienced.  I  went  to  her  father's  house,  found  nobody  home, 
waited  for  two  hours,  and  then  left  message:  "Baby  was 
sick,  needed  its  mother,  to  come  up  and  take  care  of  it.  House 
will  be  open  till  two  o'clock."  No  response  came !  The 
following  day  her  mother  called,  and  asked  if  she  could  take 
some  of  Edith's  things  and  the  baby,  in  which  I  acquiesced.  I 
asked  .the  old  lady  to  sit  down  and  listen  to  me,  and  I  would 
tell  her  my  side  of  the  story.  Among  other  things,  I  told  her 
a  lady  friend  of  Edith's,  who  called  the  day  after  Edith  went 
away,  said  that  I  was  a  fool,  as  blind  as  a  bat,  that  for  years  I 
had  been  hoodwinked,  and  that  no  woman  would  leave  a 
husband,  her  children,  her  home  (such  a  one  as  she  had)  if  no 
man  was  at  the  bottom  of  it.  In  short,  that  Nathan  for  years 
had  been  under-mining  her  love,  her  affection  for  me,  and  if 
there  was  no  wrong  between  them,  there  was  pretty  much  the 
next  thing  to  it,  that  my  wife  had  repeatedly  called  on  him  in 
his  rooms  etc., — and  so  if  it  comes  to  a  divorce,  I  might  have 
rights  as  well  as  she.  Her  mother  said,  'And  you  believe  that 
woman  ?  '  My  reply  was  :  '  Don't  I  know  Edith  ?  ' 

But  what  does  her  mother  do  but  adds  fuel  to  the  flame  by 
repeating  all  but  the  last  part  of  our  conversation,  and  so 
jncenses  my  wife  that  she  goes  with  her  father  to  his  lawyers, 


,\      M  \V      r\,,I.\V|> 


223 


and  although  her  father  is  oppos.d  to  it,  <1  imandft  nothing  bill 
an  absolute  divorce.  Infer.-  that  Nathan  had  been  sent  t<>r  : 
He  was  told  what  I  had  h«-urd.  hi-  g.-ows  furious,  lit-  tells 
absolutely  everything  he  knows  about  me,  and  my  dill'eivnt 
escapades,  a  good  many  of  which  he  was  party  to,  an*  I  as  :i 
result,  he  is  telegraphed  for,  cross-examined  by  her  lawyers, 
(tells  of  the  --  Hotel  affair  where  In-  railed  expecting  to  jin.l 
me)  and  the  result  is,  her  lawyers  invit.-  me  to  please  call  on 
them.  In  the  meantim.  1  had  not  left  the  house,  I  was  out 
of  my  head,  in  tears,  in  mis.  TV  siirh  as  1  had  never  endured, 
andfruitlessly  I  s.-nt,  entreaty  aft.  r  riitivjity  t->  Edith,  and  her 
mother,  all  of  which  were  treated  with  contempt  and  indif 
ference. 

I  called  on  Dollars,  told  him  what,  when  here  I  rounded  to 
you,  and  he  thought  perhaps   I  had  better  insist  in   casa  a 
separation  was  wanted,  on  a  divorce,  as  he  argued  in  \. 
come  you  may  want  to  re-marry,  then  she  may  not  In-  willing, 
now  she  probably  is,  etc. 

I  called  on  her  attorneys.  An  absolute  divorce  was 
demanded.  As  to  the  children,  she  wanted  all,  but  I  flatly 
said  if  I  did  not  have  Enid,  1  would  agree  to  nothing. 
Well,  after  a  good  of  deal  of  dilly-dallying,  further 
demands  as  to  silver,  linen,  furniture,  piano,  furs,  etc., 
I  agreed  to  absolutely  everything,  (I  was  too  heart-weary) 
excepting  as  to  furniture. 

I  positively  refused  to  furnish  a  flat  for  her,  not 
wishing  to  run  the  chance  of  her  taking  one,  and 
having  Nathan  for  a  boarder,  against  whom  absolut.  ,\ 
every  friend  \\arned  me,  and  in  some  cases  positively  asserted 
he  was  at  the  bottom  of  all  my  trouble. 

I  could  not  believe  it,  I  thought  I  had  really  turned 
my  wife's  heart,  that  I  was  to  blame,  that  I  was 
suffering  the  penalty  of  my  sins  and  mudeeda,  and 
I  felt  crushed,  bo'ved  down  to  the  dust,  wounded 
and  humiliated.  I  have  been  an  egoist  all  my  life  !  I  was 
proud  of  my  success,  proud  of  my  business,  proud  of  the  head 


224  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

I  had  on  my  shoulders,  but  I  was  proudest  of  my  home,  my 
family,  my  wife  !  Had  I  lost  my  business,  my  children,  had 
my  wife  died,  I  could  not  have  been  as  miserable  as  I  was  at 
her  treatment.  I  am  peculiar,  I  have  set  ideas,  I  have 
meannesses,  cranky  ways,  as  we  all  have,  but  I  do  not  remem 
ber  in  my  life  to  have  done  a  fellow  creature  a  wrong,  or 
intentionally  to  have  sinned.  As  a  result,  considering  the  god 
I  had  made  of  my  wife,  I  was  hurt,  hurt  so  deeply  that  even 
now  I  have  to  take  opiates  to  put  me  to  sleep. 

Pending  negotiations,  my  house  had  grown  hateful  to 
me.  I  closed  it,  tried  to  rent  it,  and  came  to  this  hotel  with 
Enid  and  a  governess,  and  sent  my  boy  to  my  sister  Alice.  ][ 
then  announced  a  sale  of  my  furniture,  and  that  was  the  first 
blow  I  struck.  It  brought  a  demand  for  the  privilege  of 
taking  what  belonged  to  her  (which  I  had  expected)  and  it 
brought  her  to  me ! 

I  pleaded  with  her  as  I  did  before  she  left  me,  I  asked  her 
to  reconsider  a  divorce,  to  agree  on  a  separation,  promised  to 
furnish  a  flat,  and  even  give  her  five  thousand  dollars  per  year. 
All  of  no  avail  !  She  was,  as  nhe  had  been — adamant — ice  ! 
For  three  hours  she  remained  at  the  house.  Once  or  twice  she 
seemed  about  to  yield,  but  some  influence  kept  her  back.  I 
will  never  go  back  on  what  I  do !  I  will  never  change  ! 
Nobody  has  advised  me  !  I  do  this  of  my  own  free  will ;  my 
mother  is  the  only  one  who  has  advised  me,  and  I  want  you  to 
so  understand  it  I  She  left  me,  and  I  gave  up  all  hope.  Until 
then,  I  did  not  know  how  much  she  had  been  part  of  my  being, 
part  of  my  existence.  I  was  bowed  down,  miserable  and  heart 
broken  ;  and,  if  Heaven  itself  had  not  turned  against  her,  I  do 
not  know  what  I  would  have  done.  Last  Monday  I  was 
undeceived.  Her  father  came  to  me.  He  asked  if  I  would 
talk  to  him.  He  grasped  my  hand.  He  asked  me  if  I  still 
cared  for  her,  and  when  my  heart  inquired  if  I  had  not  shown 
that  I  did,  he  said  :  '  Robert,  you  are  a  king  among  men.'  He 
then  said  :  '  I  am  a  pretty  old  man,  but  there  are  some  things 
flesh  and  blood  will  not  stand.  My  life  is  not  worth  much,  but 


A     NEW     ENGLAND     WOMAN.  225 

if  things  go  on  as  they  have,  if  that  coward,  that  miserable 

Nathan,  further  continues  to  call  on  my  daughter,  I  may 
commit  murder.  Ho  thru  told  mo  Nathan  had  her  under  his 
complete  control.  He  did  not  believe  she  cared  for  him,  but 
if  that  fellow  did  not  discontinue  his  visits,  notwithstanding 
his  warnings,  he  would  shoot  him.'  He  then  said  :  '  At  first  I 
did  not  believe  it,  but  now  I  know  !  If  you  have  not  been  a 
saint,  I  have  not  been  one  either,  but  I  do  know  you  are  a  man. 
My  one  consolation  in  life  was,  to  know  you  had  provided  for 
my  daughter  like  a  prince.  Had  that  man  not  come  between 
you,  you  would  still  be  living  together.  That  Nathan  was  her 
only  witness,  her  only  informer.  Artful  as  he  has  been,  he  has 
for  years  undermined  her  love  for  you,  and  when  she  got  an 
anonymous  letter  which  everybody  thought  Nathan  had  sent, 
(but  I  know  it  came  from  a  Mr.  B).,  she  would  still  be  your 
wife,  and  love  you  as  ever.' 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  he  told  me  if,  for  my  children's 
sake,  I  did  not  fight  a  divorce,  (and  if  I  showed  I  meant  to, 
she  would  weaken),  he  would  rid  the  earth  of  that  black 
guard  !  That  Nathan,  notwithstanding  his  wishes  to  the 
contrary,  and  repeated  warnings  not  to  do  so,  called  nightly, 
advised  lier  continwdly,  and  if  he  were  out  of  the  way,  she 
would  soon  repent,  and  come  back  to  me  as  she  ought  to  have 
done  long  ago.  Well !  it  was  all  I  needed !  I  now  saw 
everything!  Up  to  three  years  ago,  my  wife  was  an  angel. 
In  the  last  three  years,  Nathan's  influence  had,  in  the  dark 
been  working  against  me.  Whereas,  at  first  I  l>l:im<-d  myself, 
I  am  now  awakened.  To-morrow  she  is  to  see  her  lawyers. 
Then  she  will  hear  I  absolutely  refuse  to  submit  to  a  divorce, 
other  than  in  open  court ;  will  agree  to  no  alimony—  to 
nothing  ;  no  separation,  or  anything;  and  then,  if  from  what 
her  father,  her  mother  and  her  lawyers  say,  she  wants  to  force 
the  issue,  the  case  of  Fennimorc  vs.  Fennimore,  will  become 
a  feature  of  New  York  newspapers.  I  know  she  has  not  \>^\ 
her  honor,  nor  her  heart.  She  is  incensed,  and  she  has  been 
worked  upon  until  her  mind  is  affected.  I  have  been  the 


A     NEW     ENGLAND     WOMAtf. 


suppliant,  but  now  I  am  once  again  myself  ;  and,  whereas  it 
may  be  years  before  we  are  together  again,  I  can  only  have  her 
as  wife,  when,  on  her  knees,  she  comes  to  me.  Return  this 
letter,  read  it  to  both  of  my  brothers,  who  will  sympathise  with 
me,  and 

Believe  me, 

Yours, 

ROBERT    FENNIMORE. 

The  following  letters  are  fair  specimens  of  such 
as  I  received  at  the  time.    Both  speak  for  themselves. 
The  first  needs  no  comment.     It  breathes  the  heart 
felt   sympathy   of   a   dearly-loved   brother  : 
DEAR  ROBERT, 

Your  letter  of  —  inst.  received.  What  a  terrible  revelation  1 
I  can  hardly  believe  it  ;  and  yet,  when  you  first  wrote, 
involuntarily  that  thought  came  to  me,  yet  I  did  not  want  to 
entertain  it  ;  but,  alas  !  it  seems  too  true.  My  dear  brother, 
you  have  my  heart-felt  sympathy  !  I  don't  know  what  to  say 
to  you,  only  I  know  my  very  heart  bleeds  for  you.  How  awful 
to  think,  after  all  these  married  years,  it  should  come  about 
thus.  I  know  you,  as  I  have  often  told  you,  better  than  any 
one  else,  and  I  know  how  you  must  feel.  With  all  the  faults 
you  have,  as  light-hearted  as  you  may  seemingly  appear,  on 
certain  matters  that  I  would  deem  very  sacred,  at  heart  you 
have  always  been  true  ;  and,  that  she,  who,  for  ten  years,  has 
been  your  companion,  and  has  borne  you  children,  should 
leave  you  in  such  a  manner,  seems  inexplicable.  If  she  had  a 
grievance,  why  didn't  she  try  your  better  self  rather  than  take 
such  off-hand  proceedings  ?  I  simply  can't  understand  it  ;  but, 
in  spite  of  myself,  it  looks  to  me  very  much  as  if  Nathan  is  at 
the  bottom  of  all  your  troubles  ;  and,  if  this  is  true,  shooting 
wouldn't  be  any  too  good  for  him.  I  only  hope,  Robert,  that 
Edith  will  reconsider  the  terrible  step  she  wants  to  take,  and 
that  a  speedy  reconciliation  may  take  place. 
Your  loving  brother, 

ALECK. 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  2'27 

The  other  oue  was  as  follows  : 

MY  DEAR  ROBEKT. 

I  was  very  much  paiued  to  read  your  letter  to  Aleck,  nnd 
do  hopo  that  the  worst  will  iiot  happen,  and  that  you  ami 
Kdith  will  get  reconciled.  Use  every  effort  to  bring  this  about, 
if  only  for  the  sake  of  your  dear  children.  I  cannot  under 
stand  how  Edith  could  leave  the  little  ones.  That  your  home 
life  never  suited  Mary  and  un-.  you  know.  Is  it  possible  that. 
Nathan,  whom  you  considered  your  best  and  truest  friend,  is  a. 
villain?  I  cannot  believe  that  Edith  should  f'-r-o.ke  \  ..11  for 
him,  at  the  same  time  I  cannot  understand  if  you  loved  Edith 
as  you  say  you  did,  you  could  often,  c  \. n  if  in  only  u jocular 
way,  have  talked  as  you  sometimes  did  to  us,  about  the  marriage 
relation.  Robert,  iny  brother,  is  all  the  blame  on  one  side 
only  ?  Have  you  been  as  true  and  faithful,  as  a  good  husband 
should  be?  If  not,  acknowledge  to  Kd;th  that  you  have  done 
wrong,  and  try  and  make  up  with  her,  and  then  turnover  quite 
a  different  leaf ,  and  (Jod's  blessing  may  re.->t  upon  you,  your 
wife  and  children,  and  give  you  a  happy  homo  yet.  Oh, 
Robert,  when  I  look  back  some  twenty  years,  see  you  as  a  boy, 
and  think  what  a  change  has  become  of  you  as  a  man,  it  pains 
me  more  than  you  have  any  idea  of.  May  this  trial  be  a 
turning  point  in  your  life.  I  hope  and  pray  you  nnd  K.iith 
will  be  speedily  brought  together  again,  that  you  will  forgive 
one  another,  and  henceforth  devote,  youisel\.-s  to  doing  all  in 
your  power  to  increase  each  others  pure  happiness,  set  up  a 
model  household,  and  not  be  so  worldy  minded  as  \  oil  have 
been  hitherto.  I  would  like  to  point  you  to  CliriM.  u>  the 
Church,  to  Religion,  but  perhaps  it  is  best  not  to  say  much.  I 
pray  for  you  and  your  dear  ones. 

Your  affect,  brother. 

JOHN. 

This  letter,  although  expressing  regret  and  full  of 
sympathy,  and   written    by    a    brother  who   firmly 


228  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

believes  in  Christ  and  Christianity,  imagined  I 
needed  the  admonition  to  confess  to  Edith  that  I 
had  done  wrong  ?  Ah  Jack,  in  your  calm,  placid, 
ordinary  every  day  life,  you  had  never  been  troubled 
by  storms  and  winds,  such  as  time  and  again 
menaced  my  vessel.  Your  life  had  been  one  of  peace 
and  content !  Your  bark  had  sailed  in  the  quiet 
placid  waters  of  an  inland  lagoon.  You  had  never 
been  buffeted  by  a  "  sou-easter,"  or  a  "  nor-wester," 
such  as  your  brother  Rob  continually  had  to  contend 
with,  and  whereas  his  vessel  had  come  from  the  same 
builders,  and  it  was  originally  launched  under  the 
same  auspices,  at  the  time  of  christening  yours  was 
named  "  Content," his  ''Unrest."  Later  on,  people 
likened  your  ship  unto  your  brother  Robert's  famous 
battle  ship,  which  by  that  time  had  been  re-christened 
"  Onward,"  and  when  yours  required  over-hauling, 
and  repainting,  it  was  re-christened  "Inward."  A 
difference  of  the  "  i  "  only.  But  oh  what  a  difference! 
You  were  satisfied  to  have  yours  plough  for  six 
months  in  the  year  on  an  inland  lake,  the  other  six 
it  remained  stationery,  calm  and  quiet,  securely 
moored  to  its  dock.  If  the  waters  around  it  grew 
muddy,  if  in  consequence  of  inaction  its  very 
hulk  grew  mouldy  and  rotten,  what  mattered  it  ? 
You  always  had  your  boat  in  sight,  there  never  was 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

any  danger  of  your  losing  it !    You  took  no  chances ! 

But  I? 

What  vessel  was  ever  launched  that  passed  through 
so  many  viscissitudes,  climes  and  changes  as  mine  ? 
When  it  was  built,  admiring  yours,  I  requested  the 
builders  to  model  and  fashion  it  as  near  like  unto 
yours  as  possible,  and  when  it  was  launched,  and  I 
set  sail  and  left  your  placid  lake,  in  name  only  were 
we  or  our  boats  dis-siinilar.  But  the  first  wind  that 
came  along,  wafted  my  vessel  out  into  the  open  lakes, 
through  the  newly  built  canals,  down  the  mighty 
Hudson,  into  the  great  Atlantic.  And  then  there 
arose  a  storm  and  another  storm,  until  finally, 
buffeted  by  one  wave  after  another,  I  was  driven 
from  shore  to  shore,  from  clime  to  clime,  and  when 
finally  the  elements  desisted  and  rested,  and  their 
attempts  to  wreck  me  proved  futile,  my  boat  had  to 
be  manned  by  experienced  gunners  and  fighters  to 
keep  away  the  pirates  that  continually  were  be-setting, 
annoying,  and  harrassing  me  And  finally  when  my 
boat  had  withstood  all  storms,  had  conquered  all 
enemies,  and  was  safe  in  port,  what  wonder  the  love 
of  danger,  the  "spirit  of  unrest"  seized  upon  me, 
and  from  that  time  "  onward,"  and  forever  after 
ward,  1  could  not  rest  calm,  nor  content,  even  in  the 
harbors  of  the  very  busiest  of  marts,  but  no  sooner 


230  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

had  I  reached  one  port,  I  would  leave  for  another, 
all  the  time  eager  and  anxious  for  new  worlds  to 
conquer,  new  sights  to  see. 

And  although  in  recent  years  you  have  added 
improvements  to  your  boat,  imitated  and  aped  mine 
in  every  particular  possible,  nevertheless  an  inland 
lagoon  is  not  the  ocean,  a  canal  boat  not  a  battle  ship, 
and  even  so,  such  is  the  difference  'twixt  you  and  me. 

Confess  to  Edith  !  Why,  Jack  !  I  confessed  too 
much  ! 

When  Edith's  father  called  on  me,  he  informed  me 
the  reason  that  eventually  prompted  him  to  do  so, 
was  a  scene  which  he  had  with  Mr.  Nathan,  which 
culminated  in  his  telling  Nathan  if  his  calls  were 
persisted  in,  Edith  would  go  to  the  very  devil,  that 
he  had  furthermore  on  that  occasion  told  Edith  if 
she  secured  a  divorce,  and  was  firm  in  her  purpose, 
he  for  one  would  interpose  no  objection  to  her 
marrying  Nathan,  provided  the  proprieties  were  in 
a  measure  observed,  but  that  he  did  not  propose  to 
stand  by  and  permit  me  to  do  the  fiddling,  and  have 
Nathan  reap  the  benefit — not  at  any  rate  while  I 
was  her  husband. 

His  scene  resulted  in  Nathan's  sending  him  a 
letter  which  it  required  but  little  discernment  to 
read  "  twixt  the  lines.''' 


A     NEW     ENGLAND     WoMAN.  231 

This  letter  he  promised  to  bring  me  on  his  next 
visit.  It  was  as  follows  ; 

DEAR  SIB. 

I  have  thought  about  what  you  «ud  to-iaight.  In  many 
things  you  are  right.  I  appreciate  your  frankness.  I  think  wo 
all  are  very  much  excited  and  nervous  through  all  the  Wffks. 
I  know  I  am,  it  is  cans,  -d  from  lack  of  sleep,  thinking  of  things 
which  are  nearest  my  In-art.  You  know  I  am  the  last  one  to 
want  to  make  Edith  feel  badly,  her  happiness  and  future  is  as 
dear  to  me  as  anybody.  Do  not  have  any  wrong  ideas  about 
her,  she  would  never  go  where  you  said  in  the  excitement  to 
night,  but  I  am  sure  her  lift-  from  now  on  will  be  full  of  happi 
ness,  content  and  peace.  There  is  still  a  happy  life  before  her, 
and  while  one  man  did  not  appreciate  the  sweetness  and  kind 
ness  of  her  character,  the  future  will  be  different  to  her,  and 
full  of  huppin.  ss.  You  will  pardon  me  if  I  suggest  that  it 
would  be  good  for  her  perhaps  if  she  should  go  in  Lakewood 
fora  week  or  two  with  the  children,  it  will  certainly  benefit 
her  health,  and  quiet  her  nerves.  If  this  suggestion  com.* 
from  you,  it  will  have  more  effect  on  her,  because  if  I  should 
say  it,  she  would  think  I  did  not  want  to  call  any  more.  It 
would  stop  all  slanderous  tongues,  and  she  herself  needs  a 
change  of  air.  Believe  me,  I  speak  out  of  my  heart  when  I  say 
her  welfare  is  dearest  to  me,  the  end  will  come  out  all  right, 
and  it  will  be  anew  and  better  life,  a  life  full  of  happiness  and 

peace. 

Sincerely    yours, 

SOLOMON  NATHAN. 

When  Mr.  B.  handed  me  this  letter,  my  blood  was 
up.  It  w;is  positive  proof.  It  showed  too  plainly 
the  coward's  motives, 

Mr.  B  calmed  me  somewhat.  He  begged  me  not 
to  act  illegally,  but  that  on  consulting  with  a  friend 


232  A     NEW    ENGLAND     WOMAtf. 

of  his,  he  found  there  was  a  law  against  conspiracy. 
His  friend  had  suggested  that  Nathan  and  his 
governess  had  been  conspiring  ever  since  the  sum 
mer,  and  whereas  the  man  only  called  at  night  time, 
the  woman  invariably  called  in  the  day  time,  and  in 
consequence  it  was  a  clear  case  of  conspiracy  'twixt 
the  two  of  them. 

I  took  counsel,  and  was  about  securing  warrants  of 
arrest,  when  I  thought  it  would  be  better  to  scare  and 
intimidate  a  coward,  rather  than  make  a  martyr  out  of 
a  villain.  I  bethought  me  of  this,  as  I  knew  my  wife's 
nature  well  enough  to  know  if  matters  became  public, 
if  Nathan  were  arrested,  nothing  in  the  world  would 
ever  bring  her  back  to  me. 

I  accordingly  called  on  the  accomplice,  the  tool, 
I  pitied  the  measures  I  was  forced  to  pretend  I  would 
adopt,  but  I  succeeded  in  scaring  the  "  rat."  I  told 
the  governess  both  she  and  he  would  be  arrested  if 
she  persisted  in  carrying  further  messages  to  my 
wife,  (I  wanted  to  break  off  all  relations  between 
them),  and  I  succeeded.  The  woman  went  into  tears. 

"  Mein  Himmel,"  she  exclaimed.  "Vat  could  I  do? 
Mister  Natan  tells  me  your  vife  vars  lonesome,  und 
needed  a  companion  in  her  troubles." 

"  My  wife  needs  no  servant  as  a  companion,"  I 
ventured,  and  in  short,  X  so  badly  scared  the  tool, 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  233 

that  "  Mephistofele  "  himself  took  fright,  he  drew  in 
his  horns,  and  whereas  the  following  letter  the  better 
than  ought  else  bespeaks  the  fright  my  visit 
occasioned,  he  nevertheless  therein  attempts  to 
picture  himself  as  the  one  abused. 
The  letter  read : 

DEAR  ROBEBT, 

I  don't  understand  your  actions.  When  I  canie  home, 
Frauleiu  told  me  what  you  told  her.  You  say  you  love  Edith, 
and  still  you  are  hound  to  mix  her  up  with  me.  I  don't  care 
what  Maurice  or  anybody  else  told  you.  I  tell  you,  you  are 
hounding  me  for  an  imagination,  and  that  your  awful  position 
makes  you  listen  to  the  lowest  kind  of  people.  The  letter  you 
showed  Fraulein  was  written  after  Edith's  father  said  that  you 
would  bring  an  action  against  Edith,  with  the  idea  to  mix  me 
up  in  it  He  said  it  would  be  ruin  to  her,  and  I  told  him  I  was 
the  last  one  to  bring  ruin  upon  her  ;  that  I  preferred  not  to  see 
her  again.  I  don't  understand  what  you  want  ?  Since  I  saw 
you  last,  I  have  refused  to  see  Edith,  and  will  do  so  further. 
You  accuse  me  more  than  ever  of  wrong-doing.  I  probably 
did  not  act  right  in  the  week  you  made  me  furious,  but  ever 
since  then  I  have  again,  particularly  the  last  week,  and  more 
yet  last  night,  tried  to  influence  Edith  in  your  favor.  Do  you 
think  she  will  yield  if  you  continue  to  accuse  her  of  wrong 
doing,  which  you  know,  in  your  inner  heart,  are  not  true  ?  I 
am  not  afraid  of  arrest,  or  anything  else,  but  I  am  quietly 
preparing  to  meet  any  emergency.  All  that  I  want  is,  as  I  t<  -Id 
Dollars,  to  be  left  alone.  If  I  am  dragged  in  this  affair,  there 
won't  be  any  sparing  done.  I  think  you  are  aware  that  I  know 
how  to  handle  newspaper  reporters.  Now  take  any  step  you 
choose,  but  the  consequences  be  on  your  own  head.  Maurice 
told  me  a  man  in  your  position  to  get  his  wife  back  is 
excusable  for  many  things.  I  agree  with  him,  but  everything 


234.  A   NEW   ENGLAND   WOMAN. 

has  its  culmination,  and  the  hunting  down  of  me  has  worried 
my  patience  to  the  utmost,  and  if  it  does  not  stop,  I  will  take 
steps  to  stop  it.  I  repeat,  don't  continue  on  this  talk.  Edith 
would  not  be  half  as  hard,  if  you  did  not  accuse  her,  and  it  is 
only  natural  that  she  would  want  to  communicate  with  me  if  I 
am  the  one  who  is  accused  too.  Again,  don't  listen  to  bad 
advice.  You  have  hurt  Edith  terribly  with  all  your  accusations 
still,  I  believe  yet  there  is  a  chance  for  you  to  restore  your 
home,  but  it  can  only  be  dono  by  kindness,  and  not  by 
persecution. 

I  will  not  visit  her  any  more,  except  I  must  see  her  father. 
If  he  will  not  come  to  me,  I  will  go  to  him,  but  I  trust  he  will 
see  me  at  my  house. 

If  the  papers  take  hold  of  this  affair,  I  will  fight  to  my  last 
breath,  and  I  shan't  be  on  the  defence  neither.  I  may  have 
more  friends,  allies,  etc.  than  people  think.  Now  you  can 
take  your  choice.  If  it  is  war,  let  it  be  then.  Where  the  good 
comes  out  for  any  of  us,  I  can't  see,  but  the  inevitable  can't  be 
avoided. 

Yours, 

SOLOMON    NATHAN. 

Once  before  he  had  promised,  he  would  not  visit 
her.  Then  it  was  a  matter  of  honor.  He  broke  his 
promise.  Now  he  promised  not  to  visit  her,  and  it 
was  a  matter  of  avoiding  the  penalty.  I  knew  he 
would  keep  his  word. 

I  had  gained  my  point. 

*  *  *  # 

With  Mr.  B.,I  called  on  Mr.  Charmer,  paid  him  his 
fee,  told  him  her  father  was  with  me,  her  mother 
even  against  her,  and  that  gentleman  assured  us, 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  235 

whereas  he  was  her  attorney,  and  had  to  act  for  her, 
he  would  do  his  best  to  avoid  bringing  an  action, 
and  although  he  could  promise  nothing,  he  thought 
nothing  would  be  lost  by  delaying,  and  letting  the 
matter  sleep. 

Thus  I  was  on  the  point  of  settling  down  to  an 
enforced  separation,  feeling  assured  of  the  wonders 
time  accomplishes  in  healing  all  wounds,  when  I  was 
iiwaki-ncd  out  of  my  sense  of  peace  and  security  by 
the  following  letter  : 

OFFICE  OF 
DOLLARS,  BRANDY  &  SODA, 

BROADWAY. 

MB.  KOBEBT  FENNIMOBE. 
My  Dnir  Sir  : 

Mrs.    Fennimore  has  secured  another  attorney,  who 
called  ou  thr  ju»l^»-  \  rstt-rday. 

You  had  better  come  dowii  and  see  us  at  once. 
Respectfully,  etc., 

DOLLARS,  BRANDY  &  SODA. 


CHAPTKR   XXVII. 


In  my  life,  I  had  received  many  wounds-  The 
deepest  had  been  those  my  wife  had  given  me.  Until 
her  father  came  to  me,  my  misery  had  been  such  that 
I  had,  in  a  measure,  grown  impervious  to  her  thrusts. 
Here  I  was,  just  about  convalescing  mentally, 
regaining  my  strength  physically,  when  once  again  a 
blow  was  struck,  which  cut  me  to  the  very  core.  I 
bowed  my  head,  but  this  time,  it  was  not  in  tears. 

"  How  long,  oh  God  ?"  I  cried. 

I  was  hurt,  I  was  offended,  I  was  outraged ;  but, 
unlike  the  time  when  the  first  blow  was  struck,  I  now 
had  the  consciousness  of  trying  to  do  right.  With 
my  attorney's  letter,  I  went  to  her  father. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Mr.  B.?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Don't  ask  me,  Rob,"  he  replied.  "I  am  afraid  she 
is  still  in  the  hands  of  that  fiend;  and,  whereas  he 
no  longer  calls  at  the  house,  her  mother  thinks  she 
sees  him  of  an  afternoon,  and,  at  any  rate,  things 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  237 

have  gone  on  to  such  an  extent,  that  I  have  left  our 
flat,  and  her  mother  is  going  to  do  likewise.  We 
thought,  perhaps,  doing  RO  might  bring  her  to  her 
senses.  If  it  does  not,  I  do  not  know  what  will." 

*'  You  should  not  do  that,"  I  replied,  "  but  more  of 
that  anon.  I  would  like  you  now  to  accompany  me 
to  my  lawyers,  and  learn  what  has  happened." 

When  we  reached  my  attorneys,  we  were  informed,  in 
some  way  or  other,  through  negligence  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  Charmer,  one  of  his  clerks  had  told  my  wife  her 
father  and  I  had  visited  their  office  in  each  others 
company,  and  without  further  ado,  she  had  then 
secured  another  attorney,  whom  she  had  substituted 
for  Messrs.  Charmer  and  Ketcham,  and  this  attorney, 
(Col.  Doomuch),  had  called  on  Judge  Dollars,  with  a 
Mr.  Isaac  Isaacsen,  who  represented  Mr.  Nathan. 

'•  A  Mr.  Isaac  Isaaceen,  who  represented  Mr. 
Nathan  !  "  I  exclaimed."  "  What  does  he  want  to  be 
represented  for  ?  " 

"  That  is  just  what  I  asked  my  father,  who  told  me 
Mr.  Isaacsen,  only  appeared  for  Mr.  Nathan,  to  say 
if  that  gentleman's  name  was  left  out  of  the  case, 
and  he  was  not  dragged  into  it  any  further,  he  would 
undo  what  he  had  done  by  agreeing  not  to  appear  in 
any  way  whatsoever  for  Mrs.  F.,  while  Col.  Doomuch 
called  to  see  whether  we  could  amicably  arrange  as 


238  A   NEW   ENGLAND   WOMAN. 

to  the  proceedings,  as  originally  intended  'twixt  Mr. 
Charmer  and  ourselves. 

I  was  aghast !  I  had  come  to  the  office  prepared 
to  do  some  further  fencing,  some  further  legal 
bribing,  and  possibly,  grant  even  some  further 
concessions,  if  my  wife  were  satisfied  to  remain  my 
wife ;  but,  to  hear  her  new  attorney  had  called  on 
mine — accompanied  by  mine  enemy's  emissary,  why 
that  was  a  too  positive,  a  too  plainly  apparent 
piece  of  treachery. 

For  a  while  I  remained  wrapped  in  thought. 

Mr.  Dollars,"  I  then  said  : 

"  You  tell  Col.  Doomuch  I  will  grant  my  wife  a 
divorce.  The  quicker,  the  better  it  will  suit  me  !  I 

will  make  her  an  allowance  of dollars  every 

year  of  her  lif e ;  but,  in  addition  to  Enid,  I  want  my 
boy  Oliver."  With  that  I  turned  around  to  Mr.  B. 
and  inquired ; 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  doing  right  ?  " 

"  Doing  right  *  "  he  replied.  "  Why  Bob,  I  would 
demand  all  the  children.  You  will  get  them  too,  and 
if  after  you  are  divorced,  she  marries  that  Nathan,  I 
will  kill  him  as  surely  as  my  name  is  John  B " 

"  Well,  I  do  not  care  to  demand  all  the  children," 
I  answered.  "I  know  it  would  break  her  heart  to 
lose  Beatrice,  as  if  ever  she  car  3d  for  any  of  my 


A     NEW     ENGLAND     WOMAN. 

children,  she  showed  it  when  she  brought  that  little 
one  back  to  life,  but  I  demand  Oliver,  and  would 
even  demand  Beatrice  if  I  were  not  afraid — she  is  so 
sickly  anyhow — in  case  anything  happened  to  her, 
I  would  blame  myself  for  taking  her  from  her 
mother." 

I  then  introduced  Mr.  B.  to  young  Dollars,  and  on 
that  young  gentleman  then  telling  my  father-in-law, 
how  I  had  almost  moved  the  very  heavens  themselves 
to  get  my  wife  back, — how  he  and  his  father  had 
never  seen  such  devotion — Mr.  B.  interrupted  with  : 

"  I  know  all  that  !  I  was  was  only  talking  with 
her  mother  yesterday  about  it.  I  never  knew  of  a 
manlier  course  than  Rob  has  taken  right  along. 
There  is  only  one  thing  I  blame  him  for.  lie  <>n:/I,t 
to  have  cow-hided  Solomon  Nathan,  and  perhaps  have 
cow-hided  her  too" 

On  Dollars  smiling,  and  on  my  protesting,  he 
jumped  up  and  said  : 

"  I'm  only  a  telling  you,  I  never  knew  such  devo 
tion  myself,  and  as  I  told  him,  a  bigger  clown  never 
lived  than  Robert  Fennimore  when  he  permitted 
that  'ere  cur  to  come  'round  a  taking  his  wife  away 
from  him,  and  a  buzzing  and  a  buzzing  things  into 
her  ears  for  years." 

With  that  he  left.     Before  parting  he  told  me  he 


240  A     NEW     ENGLAND     WOMAN. 

was  going  out  of  town. 

That  night  I  wrote  the  following  letter  to  my 
wife's  mother,  but  as  she  had  left  the  city  that  very 
day,  the  letter  was  returned  to  me. 

It  read  as  follows  ; 

MKS.  B. 

I  only  needed  to  hear  your  daughter  had  deceived  both 
you  and  her  father  to  again  become  self-possessed  and  myself. 
I  would  have  lived  for  years  as  I  am  now  doing  if  your  daughter 
had  acted  honorably,  for  my  belief  in  her  was  everything  My 
faith  in  her  is  now  gone,  and  with  it,  she  has  lost  her  one  great 
anchor.  She  has  secured  another  attorney,  who  called  on  mine 
with  Mr.  Nathan's  lawyer.  What  further  proof,  irrespective  of 
the  many  others  that  have  cropped  up,  do  I  or  her  father  need 
of  her  dishonesty  ?  To  save  her,  I  will  provide  for  her  as  I 
hava  told  Judge  Dollars,  granted  I  have  my  children,  and  she 
take  back  her  maiden  name,  in  which  case  I  will  do  all  I  can 
to  give  her  her  heart's  wish  as  expeditiously  as  possible. 
Should  she  not  acquiesce,  let  her  face  the  issue. 
Yours  truly, 

ROBERT  FENNIMORE. 

In  the  meantime,  I  could  not  thrust  Edith  from  me. 
I  made  one  last  and  final  effort.  I  called  on  her.  At 
first  she  refused  to  see  me.  Finally  persistency  won 
the  day  !  She  greeted  me  with  a  stony  stare. 

"  Edith,"  I  ventured,  "  all  is  now  over  between  us, 
and  I  am  as  anxious  for  a  divorce  as  you.  (I  said 
this  as  I  knew  pleading  would  be  vain,)  I  thought 
it  but  due  you  to  say  I  do  not  want  to  humiliate 
you  to  the  dust,  nor  make  your  life  miserable.  I  will 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  241 

not  ask  for  all  the  children.  I  will  leave  you  the 
baby." 

"  And  why  can  you  not  leave  me  Oliver  until  he  is 
— say  fifteen  ?  " 

'*  Because  I  want  my  boy,  my  son.  But  I  will  leave 
him  with  you  till  he  is  seven,"  I  added,  thinking  my 
magnanimity  would  perhaps  soften,  touch  or  win  her. 
I  then  referred  to  other  matters,  and  purposely  spoke 
slowly,  measuredly,  carefully,  thinking  perhaps  if 
again  I  saw  a  sign  of  relenting,  I  might  take  her  at 
the  right  moment. 

As  well  might  I  have  appealed  to  stone,  to  marble, 
to  a  block  of  granite,  as  to  the  woman  who  there  in 
the  flesh  was  my  very  own  wife. 

I  left  her,  and  but  once  again  did  we  meet  before 
the  law  divorced  us,  but  even  after  my  interview,  I 
wrote  her  finally  and  for  the  last  time  a  letter,  of 
which  the  following  is  a  copy : 

EDITH. 

After  talking  with  you  I  could  not  act  as  indifferently  as  I 
meant  to,  and  in  telling  you,  you  could  keep  Oliver  until  his 
seventh  year,  I  did  more  than  I  dreamed  of  or  meant  to  do. 
Your  acts  have  in  a  measure  crushed  the  la*t  vestige  of  love 
out  of  my  heart,  and  it  is  only  when  I  think  of  the  misery  you 
bring  on  yourself  and  our  children  that  I  soften  at  all.  You 
have  been  cruel,  vicked  beyond  what  you  know.  I  do  not 
blame  you.  I  consider  your  mind  unbalanced !  It  hurt  me 
to  see  you  to-day  in  circumstances  other  than  those  I  accustomed 


242  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

you  to,  and  yet  what  will  your  future  be  to  your  present  if  you 
persist  in  your  course?  Edith,  Avife  think!  You  said  you 
only  cared  for  yourself.  I  know  it,  and  I  have  felt  it  for  years, 
selfishness,  love  of  self,  is  your  one  trouble.  That  combined 
with  the  poison  that  has  been  poured  into  your  mind  is  con 
trolling  you,  whereas,  if  you  were  in  your  senses,  you  would 
look  duty  in  the  face,  think  of  your  own  future,  and  be  a 
woman,  a  mother.  You  know  I  do  not  want  you  to  live  with 
me,  not  at  any  rate  until  you  can  be  a  wife  such  as  a  man 
should  have,  and  if  that  time  never  comes,  I  will  live  apart 
from  you.  But  is  it  in  your  own  interest  for  you  to  deprive 
yourself  of  the  truest  love  that  woman  can  have  from  man,  of 
a  love  that  has  been  yours  since  you  were  a  child  ?  One  man 
in  a,  million,  one  man  among  ten  millions  might  have  made  the 
effort  your  husband  has  to  regain  you,  his  home,  his  children, 
and  for  what  ?  For  any  reason  other  than  that  when  he  gave 
you  his  hand,  he  gave  you  his  heart,  and  that  until  now  no 
soul  can  lay  claim  to  any  part  of  his  love  but  you  ?  Edith, 
woman,  child,  wife,  think.  And  what  have  I  done  ?  You  know 
I  have  never  lied  to  you  !  What  I  have  done,  I  have  told  you. 
Whatever  your  evil  genius  has  said,  has  been  perverted,  twisted 
to  suit  his  own  wicked  purposes.  From  me  alone  have  you  had 
the  truth,  and  when  I  am  willing  to  overlook  everything,  when. 
I  am  willing  to  take  you  back  to  my  heart,  even  to  my  home, 
(when  you  ask  me),  don't  you  think  when  death  comes  to  you, 
you  will  have  less  qualms  of  conscience,  less  misery,  if  for  your 
children's  sake,  if  not  for  your  own,  you  act  like  the  woman, 
the  mother,  (the  mother  of  heroes'),  which  I  hoped  you.  would 
prove,  and  show  yourself  to  the  world  the  angel  I  believed 
you.  You.  care  nothing  for  the  world,  you  care  only  for  your 
self  ;  you  say.  I  don't  believe  you  !  You  are  trying  to  deceive 
me  in  this,  as  you  tried  to  hide  all  emotion  from  me  to-day. 
Had  I  wanted  justification,  had  I  cared  to  retaliate  on  you,  I 
could  not  have  dreamed,  your  own  folly  would  so  soon  give  me 
the  opportunity.  But  don't  let  me  further  wound  you  by 
words  or  love-letters.  For  the  last  time,  think  !  Think  before 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  243 

your  acts  deprive  you  of  what  should  be  the  prop,  the  main 
stay,  Vie  glory  of  your  life.  I  love  self,  but  I  love  you  better. 
I  love  my  children,  but  until  now  their  mother  c&meJirsL  And 
who,  in  all  the  avalanche  of  all  our  friends,  ever  made  you 
believe  I  did  not  care  for  you  ?  One  eczema  of  a  man  only  ! 
One  dirty  beggar,  who  was  not  so  much  after  you,  excepting  as 
my  widow,  (for  then,  1m  knew,  you  would  have  wealth),  but 
who  was  more  after  the  possibilities  that  might  arise  out  of 
your  ftthi-r^s  inventions.  Oh!  it  makes  my  blood  boil ;  and, 
whereas  I  think  I  understand  you,  I  know  your  heart  better 
than  you  think  for  ;  and,  I  feel  your  misery  as  deeply  as  if  it 
were  my  own.  Come  to  your  senses,  or  rather,  awaken  to  \  our 
wifehood,  yonr  motherhood.  "When  I  saw  my  little  ones 
to-day,  my  heart  felt  for  them.  Must  that  little  baby,  (whom 
you  unintentionally  wronged,  by  placing  it  in  the  hands  of 
ignorant  nurses)  must  that  little  mite  live  with  yon,  away  from 
her  brother  and  sister,  deprived  of  the  home  that  I  am  always 
sure  to  furnish  my  loved  ones  with  ?  And,  even  if  out  of 
recollections  of  the  past,  I  give  you  double  or  treble -what  I  told 
you  I  would  do,  will  Beatrice's  life  be  as  happy  away  from  her 
father,  as  that  of  our  Enid,  and  my  boy  ?  Pray  don't  mis 
understand  me.  I  am  not  pleading,  I  have  done  too  much  of 
that  already.  I  am  trying  to  reason  with  you.  To  reason  \\  itli 
you,  as  much  for  your  oirn  s>tke  as  for  our  children's  sake. 
For  my  sake,  not  at  all.  Make  any  demand  you  choose  your 
self]  and,  as  far  as  lies  within  me,  I'll  comply  with  it.  In 
return,  I  ask  nothing.  You  said  you  were  sorry,  I  belicvnl  in 
you;  sorry  I  had  faith  in  you.  Idoubtyouf  Let  my  proving 
it,  recall  you  to  a  sense  of  the  realities,  tlie  duties  of  both  our 
lives,  and  when  years  have  rolled  by,  or  death  frees  either  one 
or  the  other,  we  both  will  have  the  consciousness  of  having 
done  our  duty.  That's  all  I  care  to  live  for.  That's  all  I 
write  for.  Tou  have  ju>\\-  gained  the  victory,  not  I!  I  have 
once  again  finally  conceded  all  ytm  can  in  reason  expect.  Can 
you,  will  you  be  magnanimous?  Can  you,  will  you  forgive? 
For  your  Bake,  wife ;  not  mine.  Send  Oliver  to  me  on  Sunday; 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

and,  in  doing  so,  if  mercy,  wifehood,  motherhood,  are  not 
altogether  dead,  send  me  a  line,  which  not  alone  I,  but  your 
mother  and  father  will  bless  you  for  sending. 

Your, 

ROBERT. 

In  this  letter  I  sent  the  following  squib  : 

And  for  your  own  sake,  yours  father's  sake,  treat  him  a  little 
differently.  You  have  broken  up  your  husband's  life,  your 
husband's  home.  You  are  doing  the  same  thing  for  your 
father.  He  is  almost  afraid  to  enter  his  own  door.  He  is 
older  than  I,  and  his  age  is  telling  on  him.  '  Honor  thy  father 
and  mother,'  child  ;  and  thy  days  will  be  the  happier,  and  the 
better.  What  your  father  has  done,  and  is  trying  to  do,  has 
been  in  your  interest,  not  his.  If  I  am  dead  to.  you.  don't  lose 
your  next  best  friend. 

I  mailed  the  letter  late  that  night.  The  next  day's 
mail  brought  me  a  missive  in  her  hand  writing. 
Impatiently  I  tore  the  wrapper.  The  envelope  con 
tained  my  letter, apparently  unopened,  merely  enclosed 
in  an  envelope  she  had  directed  to  me. 

Apparently  it  had  not  been  opened,  but  on  a  closer 
examination  the  original  envelope  proved  it  had  been 
tampered  with,  and  as  like  a  good  many  busines  men 
— through  force  of  habit — I  had  a  certain,  never 
varying  way  of  folding  enclosures  when  sent  with 
something  else,  I  could  easily  see  my  wife  had  first 
read  the  foregoing  letter,  and  then  in  returning  it, 
and  endeavoring  to  deceive  me,  had  forgotten  to 
refold  the  enclosure  as  it  originally  had  been  sent. 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  245 

On  what  trifles  our  whole  life  revolves ! 

It  is  only  a  few  months  since,  that  by  touching  a 
little  bit  of  an  insignificant  button,  Grover  Cleveland 
set  in  motion  the  stupendous,  awe-inspiring,  wonder 
ful  conglomeration  of  machinery  that  was  gathered 
together  at  the  Chicago  World's  Fair. 

It  was  only  a  few  days  since,  that  the  daily  news 
papers  contained  an  account  of  a  terrific  rail  road 
accident.  Over  eighty  lives  were  lost,  over  two 
hundred  passengers  were  maimed,  injured  or 
crippled.  Yet  'twas  only  a  little  thing !  The  flag 
man  was  tired,  over- worked  !  He  should  have  been 
relieved,  but  for  some  inexplicable  reason  his 
substitute  failed  to  materialize !  The  flag  man  stood 
to  his  post.  But  for  two  nights  he  had  sat  up  till 
duty  called  him,  with  a  child  sick  of  the  measles.  In 
her  fever,  she  needed  her  dad.  Poor  man  that  he 
was,  he  loved  his  little  girl.  When  she  cried  it  was 
his  rough  and  grimy  hand  that  gently  patted  her 
cheek,  and  carefully  wiped  away  the  beads  of  sweat 
that  would  gather  on  her  brow.  It  was  a  little 
thing,  but  the  flag-man  was  human.  He  was  tired. 

His  very  eyes  ached.     The Express  passed  his 

post,  a  misplaced    switch,    a    dark  night — a  crash, 
a  smash, — and  next  day  we  all  read  the  old  story. 
'Tis  a  little  thing,  and  yet  on  what  little  things  the 


246 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 


world  and  humanity  depend  !  Life,  Death,  Heaven 
and  Hell  hinge  on  little  things.  In  the  days  of  early 
Home,  the  cackling  of  a  flock  of  geese  saved  her  from 
invasion.  A  necklace  caused  the  French  Revolution. 
Watts — poor  sickly  boy  that  he  was — in  very  conse 
quence  of  his  infirmities,  would  watch  his  mother's 
kettle  singing  and  steaming  away  at  her  kitchen  fire. 
'Twas  a  little  thing,  and  yet  this  little  thing  set  the 
poor  boy  thinking,  and  to-day  the  world  thanks  James 
Watts  for  first  utilizing  steam. 

In  the  time  of  the  great  Napoleon,  when  he  was 
master  and  conquerer  of  the  world,  it  seemed  a  little 
thing  for  him  to  degrade  and  oppress  the  insignifi 
cant  kingdom  of  Prussia,  but  the  battle  of  Leipzig, 
the  battle  of  Waterloo  never  would  have  been  fought 
had  the  wonderful  mind  of  this  almost  "  all  powerful 
being  "been  able  to  forsee  the  consequence  of  the 
harsh  treatment,  and  the  humiliation  which  he 
visited  upon  this  little  kingdom. 

A  little  spark  set  fire  to  some  straw  in  an  insignifi 
cant  shanty  of  a  barn  in  Chicago.  In  less  than  an 
hour  the  whole  city  was  ablaze,  and  in  less  than  six 
hours  one  hundred  million  dollars  worth  of  property 
had  been  destroyed. 

Less  than  a  century  ago  a  shot  was  fired  which 
was  heard  around  the  world.  'Twas  a  little  thing, 


A     XKW      i: :  N.il.XVD     WOMAN. 


247 


but  'tis  ever  little  things  whereon  depend,  the 
histories  of  nations. 

'Twas  a  little  thing  for  my  wife  to  fail  to  refold 
the  squib  exactly  a*  I  had  folded  it,  but  this 
little  thing  was  the,  otie  thing  needful,  the  final 
blow,  the  finishing  touch,  the  last  cut  my  heart 
required. 

Love,  worship,  adoration  for  her,  and  faith  in  her 
had  held  me  captive  for  years.  In  Hebrews  xi.-vi., 
Paul  says  :  "  Without  love,  it  is  impossible  to  please 
God."  Faith  is  the  essence  of  things  hoped  for! 
Without  faith,  there  can  be  no  love.  My  faith  in  my 
wife  was  everyf/t //////  Deceit  I  never  deemed  her 
capable  of  !  'Twas  a  little  thing,  yet  here  was  the 
evidence.  Against  reason,  against  judgment,  against 
everybody  my  heart  clung  to  her.  My  soul  revolted 
at  my  captivity,  but  flutter  as  it  might,  it  would  still 
cling  to  the  woman  who  had  done  me  so  much  wrong. 
My  self  love  had  been  hurt,  my  heart  had  been 
wounded,  my  spirit  had  been  broken,  but  my  faith 
still  clung  to  her.  It  was  all  that  was  left.  When 
my  faith  was  shaken,  when  deceit  by  her  acts 
was  palpably  proven,  my  soul  was  freed.  The 
last  link  was  broken,  the  fetters  fell  from  off 
me. 


248  A     NEW     ENGLAND     WOMAN. 

'TWAS  A  LITTLE  THING,  BUT  HER  OWN 
ACTS  DID  JT. 

When  my  faith  died,  even  so  perished  my  love, 
and  whereas  to  this  day  I  cannot  hate,  from  the 
moment  Edith  made  me  lose  my  faith  in  her,  from 
that  moment  I  as  anxiously  desired  to  be  free, 
as  I  believe  at  any  time  she  wished  to  be 
freed. 

The  stab  she  gave,  in  returning  my  letter  was  as 
nothing  compared  to  the  contempt  I  felt,  when  I 
knew  the  final  appeal  I  had  made  had  been  useless. 
My  wrongs  had  righted  me.  From  that  moment  I 
once  again  obtained  the  mastery.  From  that 
moment  "  from  being  the  suppliant,"  I  became  the 
master. 

What  need  to  go  into  the  details  ? 

I  directed  Dollars  to  hasten  the  divorce  as  speedily 
as  possible.  She  needed  witnesses. — Without  them 
she  had  no  case. —  Nathan  had  acted  the  part  of  a 
Judas.  To  save  his  own  hide,  he  had  gone  back  on 
his  promise.  He  refused  to  testify.  I  was  asked  to 
furnish'  evidence. 

Staunch,  true,  good  friend  that  he  was,  Al  finally 
agreed  to  testify  against  me.  His  soul  revolted  at 
the  thought.  I  finally  persuaded  him.  But  one 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  249 

witness  was  not  enough.  I  required  at  least  two. 
"  The  "  onus  "  of  the  matter  shall  fall  upon  Judas," 
I  exclaimed  !  "  Nathan  must  testify/. " 

The  case  was  heard  before  a  referee.  Once  again 
Edith  and  I  met.  Anxious  for  a  divorce  as  I  was, 
the  thought  of  a  possible  wrong  that  I  might  be 
guilty  of,  in  a  measure  unnerved  me. 

When  I  arrived  at  her  attorney's  office,  she  was 
sitting  in  one  of  his  connecting  rooms.  He  announced 
me.  I  heard  him  ask  her,  as  to  whether  she 
wished  to  see  me,  or  whether  she  had  anything 
to  say.  Through  the  partition  I  heard  her 
reply . 

"  No,  I  do  not  wish  to  see  him  ;  but,  I  wish  you 
would  speak  to  him  about  those  Life  Insurance 
Policies  which  he  promised  to  transfer  to  me." 

Ah,  Edith,  I  only  needed  this  additional  proof  of 
your  thorough  selfishness,  callousness,  and  heartless- 
ness,  to  bo  the  better  able  to  face  the  oi«l<;d 
forced  upon  me.  I  insisted  on  seeing  you.  I  did  see 
you  1 

What  passed  between  us  is,  in  my  opinion,  too 
sacred  for  the  pages  of  this  volume,  and  when  at  the 
reference  you  testified  in  your  calm,  low,  famili.-ir 
voice,  and  Mr.  Nathan's  lawyer  told  Al  he  could 
hardly  understand  how  a  man  could  willingly  permit 


250  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

a  lovely  woman  like  you  to  separate  herself  from  him, 
he  only  saw  you  as  heaven  made  you,  tall,  erect, 
calm,  and  stately;  but,  I  saw  you  as  you  yourself  had 
shown  yourself,  cold,  dispassionate,  selfish,  willful, 
and  heartless,  and  whereas,  when  my  faith  died,  love 
had  also  died,  I  needed  but  to  look  at  you  in  the 
position  you  had  placed  yourself,  to  thoroughly 
understand,  as  I  ne'er  had  understood  before. 

Nathan,  coward  that  he  was,  at  first  was  inclined 
to  say  nothing,  and  only  when  Dollars,  at  my  sug 
gestion,  assured  him  I  demanded  he  tell  all  he  knew, 
did  he  give  his  tongue  license,  and  even  then,  were 
we  in  a  measure  forced  to  urge  him  on. 

After  the  testimony  had  all  been  taken,  Col. 
Doomuch  apologized,  and  assured  me  he  had 
made  every  effort  to  reconcile  my  wife  to  me,  but 
that  she  had  remained  firm  and  obdurate.  The 
referee  also  spoke,  and  told  me  I  had  probably  for 
gotten  him,  but  after  he  had  been  appointed,  he  had 
remembered  being  present  at  our  wedding,  having 
in  years  gone  bye,  been  a  friend  of  my  wife's 
father. 

It  was  a  few  weeks  thereafter  the  decree  was 
granted. 

It  read  as  follows : 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  21 

At  a  special  term  of  the  Supreme  Court,  of  the  State 
of  New  York,  held  at  the  Court  House,  in 

the  village   of,  ,  on   the   13th 

day    of    February,   189-. 

Present,  Hon.  Johnson  B.  Goodman,  Justice. 


EDITH  A.  FENNIMORE, 

PLAINTIFF, 


vs. 


ROBERT  O.  FENNIMORE, 

DEFENDANT. 


>  ss. 


The  summons  and  complaint  in  this  action,  having 
been  personally  served  on  the  defendant  herein,  and 
he  having  appeared  by  Dollars,  Brandy  &  Soda,  his 
attorneys,  to  serve  an  answer  to  the  complaint,  and 
an  order  having  been  duly  made  and  entered  herein, 
on  the  18th  day  of  January  189-,  whereby  this  action 
and  all  the  issues  therein,  were  referred  to  Frederick 
H.  Wood,  Esq.,  Counsellor  at  Law,  as  referee  to 
hear  and  determine,  and  said  referee  having  made 
his  report,  it  was  duly  filed  on  the  13th  day  of 
February  189-,  whereby  he  finds  that  all  the  material 
allegations  in  the  complaint  are  true,  and  that  the 


252  A   NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

defendant  was  guilty  of  adultery,  and  directing 
judgment  of  Divorce  in  favor  of  the  plaintiff 
accordingly. 

Now  on  reading  and  filing  notice  of  motion  for 
judgment  on  such  report  and  proof  of  due  service 
thereof,  on  motion  of  Richard  Gr.  Doomuch,  attorney 
for  the  plaintiff,  defendant  not  appearing, 

IT  IS  ORDERED,  Adjudged  and  Decreed,  that 
the  marriage  between  the  plaintiff,  Edith  A. 
Fennimore,  and  the  defendant,  Robert  O.  Fennimore, 
be  dissolved  accordingly,  and  the  said  parties  are, 
and  each  is  freed  from  the  obligations  thereof. 

IT  IS  FURTHER  ORDERED,  Adjudged  and 
Decreed,  that  it  shall  be  lawful  for  Edith  A. 
Fennimore,  the  plaintiff,  to  marry  again  in  the  same 
manner  as  if  the  said  Robert  O.  Fennimore,  the 
defendant,  WAS  ACTUALLY  DEAD. 

IT  IS  FURTHER  ORDERED,  Adjudged  and 
Decreed,  that  the  plaintiff  be  at  liberty,  and  she  is 
hereby  authorized  to  resume  her  maiden  name — 
Edith  A.  Budd. 

Signed, 

HON.  JOHNSON  B.  GOODMAN, 

Judge  Supreme  Court. 

*  *  *  *  * 

My  wife  had  gained  her  point.     She  was  free. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII, 


This  is  the  woman  who  was  made  for  mo, 
To  love  and  to  cherish. 


As  related  in  preceding  chapters,  repeatedly  had 
I  been  guilty  of  sin,  but  only  once  during  all  the 
years  of  my  married  life,  do  I  remember  for  a  second 
to  have  ivronged  my  wife  even  in  thought. 

The  occasion  I  refer  to,  was,  when  spending  one 
summer  at  the  sea-side,  and  sitting  on  the  piazza  of 
the  West  End  Hotel,  at  Long  Branch,  my  eyes 
unconsciously  were  attracted  to  a  girl — a  young 
woman — of  eighteen  or  nineteen,  who  skipping  from 
one  part  of  the  piazza  to  the  other,  seemed  full  of 
animation,  life,  and  animal  spirits. 

Her  figure  was  lithe,  winsome,  and  perfect.  Her 
face  full  of  mischief,  diablesserie,  and  life. 

The  next  day,  when  in  bathing,  she  and  another 
girl  were  disporting  themselves  in  the  water,  at  the 
very  time  Mr.  Nathan  and  I  were  doing  likewise. 

'Tis  said  misery  makes  strange  bed  fellows  ;  also, 
that  one  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world 


254  A  NEW  ENGLAND  WOMAN. 

'kin.  In  my  experience,  an  ocean  bath  brings  about 
strange  results. 

When  the  young  lady — a  lovely,  lithe,  and  grace 
ful  swimmer — was  disporting  herself,  with  her  com 
panion,  among  the  breakers,  both  Nathan  and  I 
simultaneously  espied  them.  I  had  never  seen  a 
prettier  sight  !  Many  years  before,  I  had  felt  rather 
seriously  inclined  toward  a  young  woman,  who  made 
the  mistake  of  inviting  me  to  her  sea-side  home. 
Whatever  admiration  I  ever  felt  for  her  vanished, 
when  Father  Neptune  had  deprived  her  of  such 
charms  as  her  Fifth  Avenue  tailor  was  able  to  endow 
her  with. 

On  another  occasion,  a  most  beautiful  woman,  as 
far  as  features  and  figure  were  concerned,  completely 
disenchanted  me,  when  she  donned  her  bathing 
costume. 

My  wife  had  an  inborn  repuganance  to  sea  bathing, 
and  when  once  or  twice  I  persuaded  her  to  try  the 
effect  of  an  ocean  bath,  she  cut  a  very  sorry  picture 
indeed.  In  consequence — summer  literature  to  the 
contrary  not-withstanding, — I  had  a  very  poor 
opinion  of  the  human  form  divine,  as  evidenced  by 
womankind,  when  enveloped  in  a  bathing  suit. 

The  picture  before  me  was  ravishing  !  I  had  nevei 
in  my  life  seen  anything  so  lovely. 


A     NEW     ENGLAND     WOMAN.  255 

The  young  woman  was  of  French  extraction.  Half 
French,  half  Irish,  with  enough  of  America  in  her 
to  make  her  more  than  ordinarily  piquant.  Her  hair  a 
jet  black ;  her  eyes  like  unto  those  of  Persian  houri ; 
her  teeth  even  and  white,  seemed  like  very  pearls. 
A  little  bit  of  an  ear ;  a  button  hole  of  a  mouth  ; 
complexion  clear  and  perfect ;  what  wonder  that 
both  Nathan  and  I  gaped  at  the  apparition  before 
us? 

Her  companion  was  almost  equally  as  attractive, 
and  'twas  hardly  to  be  wondered  that  Nathan,  in  his 
usual  self-opioniated  way,  imagined  the  circumstance 
warranted  making  new  acquaintances. 

He  proposed  the  young  ladies  join  us  in  a  swim 
ming  match.  Needless  to  say,  they  declined. 
Particularly  the  black  eyed  houri.  Her  very  eyes 
seemed  turned  into  livid  balls  of  fire,  when  she 
emphatically  told  him  her  mother  was  on  the  bluff 
watching  them,  and  would  get  very  nervous  if  she 
saw  them  talking  with  anybody. 

I  speak  of  this  so  lengthily,  as  involuntarily  this 
young  womans'  personal  charms  so  attracted  and 
enchanted  me,  that  if  ever  during  all  the  years  of  my 
married  life  I  was  untrue  to  my  wife,  then  icas  the 
time.  I  thought  here  was  a  girl  who  was  prettier 
than  my  wife-  The  thought  no  sooner  entered  my 


256  A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

inind  than  it  was  dismissed,  but  involuntarily 
perhaps,  I  thought  I  had  married  too  young. 

The  young  lady  happened  to  be  the  daughter  of 
an  old  acquaintance.  Her  mother  was  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  women  I  had  ever  seen.  Her  aristo- 
crate  bearing,  her  patrician  air  was  such,  that  on  one 
occasion  Edith  noticing  her  when  we  happened  to  be 
in  one  and  the  same  car,  called  my  attention  to  her. 

How  large  a  world  we  live  in,  and  yet  how  small ! 

Fate  would,  that  during  the  very  summer  preced 
ing  my  wife's  desertion,  I  should  be  introduced  to 
the  young  lady. 

When  my  wife  deserted  me,  I  almost  turned  woman 
hater. 

Destructive,  damnable,  deceitful  woman,  was  con 
tinually  and  ever  before  my  mind.  Hating  woman, 
I  avoided  her.  But;  "It  is  not  good  for  man  to  be 
alone.'' 

I  met  Eugenie  Lecordier  by  chance  !  During  the 
summer,  I  had  asked  her  to  meet  my  wife.  Cir 
cumstances  always  prevented.  Loving  Edith,  as  I 
did,  I  was  always  anxious  to  have  all  that  knew  me, 
know  her.  I  had  set  her  on  a  pedestal !  I  imagined 
a  sort  of  halo  encircled  her !  Although  arbitrary, 
self-willed,  egoistical  and  domineering,  I  never  had 
much  of  an  opinion  about  either  my  personal  abilities, 


A    NEW     ENGLAND     WOMAN. 

or  physical  endowments.  Albeit  success  had  been 
productive  of  an  ample  allowance  of  conceit,  I  never 
had  any  vanity.  A  man  travels  on  his  brains,  not  on 
his  « looks." 

What  I  lacked,  my  wife  possessed.  Unconsciously 
my  pride  in  my  wife  made  me  think  the  world 
thought  the  more  of  me,  for  being  her  husband. 

I  would  talk  to  Miss  Lecordier  about  my  wife  by 
the  hour.  I  would  laud  her  to  the  skies.  I  have 
since  learned  I  really  tired  the  young  woman  with 
my  continual  eulogies  and  laudations.  She  never 
theless  respected  and  honored  me  for  my  sentiments. 
Mentally  she  wished,  when  she  married,  her  husband 
would  care  as  much  for  her,  as  I  did  for  my  wife. 

When  Miss  Lecordier  learned  of  my  domestic 
affliction,  she  was  amazed.  Knowing  how  I  had 
loved  my  wife,  she  pitied  me.  Never  thinking  what 
the  future  had  in  store,  she  exerted  herself  to  the 
best  of  her  ability  to  console  and  comfort  me. 

All  my  life  I  had  loved  something. 

Intuitively  she  felt,  I  could  not  long  continue  the 
miserable,  heart  broken,  mental  wreck  that  I  was. 
Everything  that  a  good  woman  could  do,  she  did  for 
me.  She  thought  nothing  of  appearances — nothing 
of  what  the  world  might  say — she  merely  acted  under 
impulse,  and  as  her  heart  was  one  of  gold,  and  she 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    -WOMAN". 


knew  I  needed  somebody's  care  and  companionship, 
that  my  little  Enid  needed  a  mother,  she  did  her 
best  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation. 

When  all  was  useless  —  when  she  knew  I  had  to 
contend  against  a  heart  of  stone  —  she  comforted  me 
as  only  a  true  woman  can  ever  comfort  man. 

Once  —  not  thinking  how  soon  I  might  put  her  to 
the  test  —  I  asked  her  if  circumstances  were  different 
and  she  loved  a  man,  would  she  marry  him  if  he 
were  divorced? 

"  If  I  loved  a  man  I  would  go  to  the  end  of  the 
world  with  him,  divorce  or  no  divorce!"  was  her 
reply. 

"  Then,  if  you  were  me,  since  it  seems  inevitable, 
you  would  give  my  wife  a  divorce  ?  " 

"  If  nothing  else  would  do,  I  would  !  Never  fight 
a  woman  Mr.  Fennimore." 

Imperceptibly,  but  surely,  this  young  woman 
gradually  drew  me  closer  to  her.  She  felt  truly  sorry 
for  me,  and  yet  she  had  the  rare  tact,  the  wonderful 
sagacity,  which  but  few  women  posess,  of  never 
intruding  on  my  sorrow. 

She  would  accompany  me  to  the  theatre;  she  would 
call  at  my  hotel,  take  out  my  little  Enid  ;  she  would 
make  this,  that,  or  the  other  suggestion  ;  but  what 
ever  she  did,  was  done  in  the  most  womanly  and 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  259 

natural  way  possible. 

And  above  all,  she  was  an  excellent  listener  !  I 
needed  sympathy.  I  am  afraid  I  tired  her  time  and 
again,  with  my  continual  troubles.  But  she  never 
was  other  than  always  the  same.  A  woman  with 
womanly  feelings. 

What  wonder  I  grew  to  making  comparisons? 
What  wonder  T  pictured  to  myself  what  my  past  life 
might  have  been,  if  fortune  had  given  me  a  wife  such 
as  this? 

She  had  four  sisters.  Two  were  married.  The 
others  all  lived  with  their  father.  Their  mother  had 
died  three  years  before  I  met  Miss  Lecordier.  Every 
one  of  the  sisters  were  pretty.  Eugenie  was  beauti 
ful.  Owing  to  her  mother's  sickness  having  been  a 
prolonged  one,  Eugenie  had  been  at  the  head  of  the 
household  for  years,  and  after  her  mother  died,  she 
in  a  measure  usurped  her  functions. 

It  used  to  amuse  me  to  hear  her  talk  of  her  younger 
sisters  (there  was  hardly  a  years  difference  twixt  the 
five  of  them)  as  the  children. 

Their  home  life  seemed  so  happy.  Their  father 
(of  whom  more  in  another  volume)  was  one  of 
the  best  natured  men  in  the  world.  At  the  same 
time  he  exacted  obedience,  and  required  attention. 
The  first  thing  that  struck  me  on  entering  the  house- 


260  A     NEW  ENGLAND     WOMAN. 

hold,  was  the  evideDt  desire  of  each  and  every  one  of 
the  girls  to  make  themselves  agreeable  to  him,  in  ways 
such  as  helping  him  off  with  his  shoes,  fetch  him  his 
slippers,  and  make  him  comfortable  generally.  One 
night  it  might  be  Clare,  the  next  Helene,  the  next 
Eugenie,  but  no  matter  how  they  were  occupied, 
they  seemed  to  lock  upon  helping  their  dad  as  upon 
a  special  privilege. 

This  was  in  great  part  attributable  to  their  French 
blood,  and  its  predilictions.  Then  they  would  never 
allow  him  to  leave  the  house  without  an  embrace  or 
a  kiss. 

So  different  from  what  I  had  been  accustomed  to. 
I  had  never  seen  Edith  kiss  either  her  father  or 
mother.  I  knew  her  mother  missed  this  seeming 
lack  of  affection,  but  having  educated  her  daughter, 
upon  herself  she  bravely  took  the  consequences. 

And  after  all,  what  is  a  kiss  ?  What  does  it  mean, 
•what  does  it  signify? 

Webster  defines  a  kiss  :  "To  salute  with  the  lips 
— to  smack — to  buss." 

To  salute  with  the  lips — the  kiss  of  friendship. 
To  smack — the  impulsive  greeting  so  generally 
noticable  in  children.  To  buss— the  young  man's, 
the  young  girl's  usually  prolonged  kiss. 

But  there  are  different  kinds,  different  degrees  of 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  261 

kisses.     In  this  volume,  I  referred  to  my  kissing  my 
Spanish  acquaintance. 

'Twas  on  the  cheek.     The  kiss  of  friendship  ! 

In  the  very  next  chapter,  I  speak  of  my  George 
Sand  being  the  first  woman,  other  than  my  mother, 
to  press  her  lips  to  mine. 

'Twas  the  kiss  of  passion  ! 

After  being  re-called  by  Edith,  I  speak  of  her 
asking  me  to  kiss  her.  Her  soul  seemed  to  meet 
mine. 

'Twas  the  kiss  of  love  ? 

One  day — after  all  had  been  arranged  'twixt  Edith 
and  myself — when  in  very  misery  my  soul  asked  for 
help — for  sympathy — Eugenie  once  stooped  over  me 
and  unconsciously  pressed  her  lips  to  mine. 

That  kiss,  unasked,  given  involuntarily  as  it  was, 
sealed  Eugenie  Lecordier  to  Robert  Fennimore,  even 
as  the  load-stone  attracts  the  magnet. — It  sealed  our 
lives. — 

From  that  moment  I  knew 

This  was  the  woman  who  was  made  for  me, 
To  love  and  to  cherish. 

I  remembered  how,  e'en  though  married,  I  had 
almost  lost  my  heart  to  the  young  girl  who  was  then 
just  budding  into  womanhood,  for  years  I  had 
carried  within  me  the  recollection  of  how  beautiful 


262  A    NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

she  looked  when  I  chanced  across  her  in  the  waves 
at  Long  Branch,  and  here  she  was  before  me  in  very 
life,  her  womanly  heart  brimful  of  sympathy,  love, 
and  commiseration  for  me. 

What  wonder  her  little  attentions,  her  many 
unasked  for,  but  welcome  services  made  me  involun 
tarily  her  debtor,  and  when  as  time  grew  apace,  and 
I  found  she  was  necessary  to  my  peace  and  comfort, 
and  by  chance  I  discovered  she  truly  loved  me,  love 
begot  love,  and  before  I  was  aware  of  it,  I  knew  A 
MAN  COULD  LOVE  MOEE  THAN  ONCE,  and 
whereas,  when  Edith  originally  left  me,  I  had  no 
thought  that  ever  again  could  I  care  for  woman,  I 
find  myself  happy  only  when  in  the  society  of  her, 
who  cared  not  what  the  world  would  say,  who  cared 
not  what  her  sisters  said  or  advised,  aye,  who  cared 
not  for  the  fact  that  she  ran  danger  of  being  excom 
municated  from  her  church,  but  who  felt  in  her  heart 
she  would  be  happiest,  aye  happy  only,  by  making 

me  happy. 

#  *  #  #  # 

I  avoid  details,  Eugenie  Lecordier  became  Mrs. 
Robert  Fennimore.  We  were  married  quietly, 
unostentatiously.  She  loved  me.  I  verily  believe 
until  I  met  her,  I  never  knew  what  a  woman's  love 
really  was. 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  263 

After  we  were  married,  she  devoted  her  life  to  me. 
Never  by  word  or  look  did  she  ever  give  me  the  least 
cause  to  regret  what  havoc,  one  woman,  had  once  upon 
a  time  been  able  to  reek  upon  my  life.  Eugenie 
loved  as  only  a  woman  with  a  soul  and  a  heart  ever 
can  love. 

Many  a  time  I  contrasted  her  very  forgetfulness 
of  her  own  wants  and  desires,  her  lack  of  selfishness, 
with  the  cold  indifference,  the  love  of  self  that  Edith 
invariably  evidenced.  Eugenie  lived  only  to  make 
me  happy,  and  seldom  a  wish  I  expressed,  that  was 
not  gratified. 

Unlike  Edith,  Eugenie  passionately  desired  children. 
All  her  life  she  had  been  fond  of  them.  What  wonder 
when  married  to  a  man  she  loved,  the  wish  for  a 
child  should  be  her  one  absorbing  passion  *  At  first 
it  seemed  as  if,  just  because  she  wanted  children, 
fate  deprived  her  of  them.  It  was  her  one  sorrow. 
How  little  either  of  us  knew  "an  all  wise  Providence" 
knew  better  than  she  or  I  "  what  was  best/' 

When  a  young  man,  I  remember  once  upon  a  time 
engaging  in  an  argument  as  to  our  mission  in  life.  I 
had  my  own  ideas,  but  the  young  medical  student 
who  was  arguing  with  me,  finally  got  the  better  of 
me  by  quoting  the  biblical  command  :  To  increase 
and  multiply.  He  claimed  it  was  man  and  woman's 


A   NEW   ENGLAND    WOMAN. 

one  chief  aim,  their  one  and  only  mission  to  bring 
into  the  world  others,  who  would  continue  in  such 
good  works  as  would  glorify  God  ! 

It  took  me  years  to  acquiesce  and  agree  with  him, 
but  nevertheless,  although  the  exception  proves  the 
rule,  there  are  exceptions  to  it. 

Two  of  the  exceptions  were  my  two  wives. 

One  of  them  disliked  having  children,  she  did  not 
want  them — they  came  to  her  without  effort. 

The  other  loved  children,  she  wanted  them — she 
seemed  destined  not  to  have  them. 

After  a  time  her  wish  was  granted.  She  seemed 
so  happy  ! 

For  months  previous  to  the  event,  she  was  con 
tinually  preparing  or  arranging  for  it.  Nothing  that 
she  did  not  think  of  ! 

She  had  a  terrible  time.  For  thirty- six  hours  she 
suffered.  Finally,  in  endeavoring  to  save  her  life, 
the  child's  life  had  to  be  sacrificed.  Under  the 
influence  of  ether,  on  regaining  consciousnes,  her 
first  inquiry  was  after  her  child.  When  I  saw  her 
weak,  worn-out,  and  long  suffering,  her  one  rnoan 
was  :  "  They  have  killed  my  baby." 

We  gave  her  the  best  of  care,  the  best  of  attention. 
I  did  whatever  I  could  do.  All  was  useless. 

In  her   conscious  moments,   she    would   whisper 


A    KEW   ENGLAND    WOMAK.  2C5 

to  me  not  to  miiul,  she  knew  she  would  not 
recover,  she  was  going  to  her  mother.  She  had 
a  premonition,  e'en  such  as  that  of  my  angel  singer. 
She  was  not  long  meant  for  this  earth.  She  was  too 
good.  She  loved  too  deeply. 

Everything  that  could  be  done  was  done. 

In  my  arms  she  expired.  Her  last  thought  for 
me.  She  went  to  rest  quietly,  peacefully.  I  could 
hardly  realize  she  was  gone. 

As  I  looked  upon  her  lying  on  her  couch,  her  eyes 
closed,  her  hands  folded  on  her  breast,  my  grief 
got  the  better  of  me.  I  became  delirious.  Before 
leaving,  she  had  bidden  me  "be  of  good  cheer ; "  had 
told  me  we  will  meet  above. 

But  my  sorrow  was  too  deep.  For  a  while,  my  life 
was  despaired  of.  Then  when  strength  gradually 

came  back,  they  feared  for  my  reason. 

***** 

Time  passed.  Once  again  I  had  resumed  the 
duties  of  life,  once  again  I  had  strength  to  gird  up 
my  loins,  and  engage  in  the  every  day  conflict  this 
world  exacts  of  us. 

A  famous  cardinal  once  said  "  No  man  ever  accom 
plishes  anything  until  woman  has  lost  all  charm  to 
him. 

In  the  loss  of  Eugenie,  I  lost  my  last  love.     When 


266  A     NEW  ENGLAND     WOMAN. 

she  died,  I  felt  all  life  had  left  me.  Woman  existed 
no  longer  for  me.  I  had  grown  prematurely  old. 
My  hair  had  turned  gray.  People  who  had  known 
me,  hardly  recognized  me.  And  yet,  in  my  desola 
tion,  in  my  lonesomeness,  in  my  misery,  I  ever  had 
her  face  before  me. 

Women  charmed  me  no  more.  My  one  consolation 
was  work.  From  early  morning  till  late  into  the 
night  I  would  keep  on  doing.  Work  consoled 
me.  It  commenced  telling.  Whereas  I  had  been  an 
easy-going,  every  day  sort  of  plodder,  always 
ambitious,  and  in  a  measure  successful,  my  troubles 
until  I  lost  Eugenie,  had  made  me  callous,  indifferent, 
and  in  a  measure  lazy.  Her  death  awoke  me.  My 
name  and  fame  spread. 

I  gave  up  business.  I  practiced  law.  Loving 
work,  in  the  study  of  law  I  found  consolation.  My 
first  case  gave  me  fame.  Later  ones  extended  my 
reputation. 

=*  *  *  #  # 

One  night,  during  the  summer  of  189-,  I  received 
a  telegram.  It  was  from  Edith's  mother.  Her 
daughter  was  dying.  She  wished  to  see  me. 

Thousands  of  miles  separated  us.  I  hastened 
where  duty  called. 

Arrived  in  New  York,  I  hurried  to  Edith's  home. 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  267 

I  was  ushered  into  a  darkened  room.  On  a  table 
there  lay  a  form.  'Twas  all  covered  up'  The  atten 
dant  lifted  the  shroud.  Underneath  was  the  face  of 
Edith. 

"IT     WAS    MY     DREAM.1' 

*  *  »  »  * 

She  had  been  suddenly  taken  sick.  In  her  delirium 
she  had  called  for  me.  She  had  begged  me  to  forgive 
her.  Growing  conscious,  and  aware  of  death's 
approach,  she  had  begged  her  mother  to  bring  me  to 
her. 

I  arrived  too  late. 

The  day  before  her  death,  she  had  asked  for  pencil 
and  paper,  and  had  written  me  the  following 
letter : 

MY  DEAR  HUSBAND: 

I  am  lying  at  the   point  of   death.     When   you  read  these 
lines,  your  wife  that  used  to  be,  will  be  no  more. 

When  I  married  you,  I  respected  you.  I  km  \v  I  <lid  not  love 
you  as  you  should  be  loved,  but  I  fully  felt  the  deep  love  you 
had  for  me.  We  were  married. 

In  all  the  years  of  our  married  life  I  did  the  best  I  could  t<> 
make  you  happy,  until  that  man,  whom  you  never  liked,  came 
between  tis.  You  know  I  never  cared  for  him,  but  his  con 
tinual  association  with  us,  IB  some  way  or  other,  put  me  under 
his  influence.  He  never  out  and  out  accused  you  of  anything, 
but  gradually,  imperceptibly,  and  before  I  understood  his 
object,  he  managed  to  instill  a  spirit  of  rebellion  within  me, 
which  finally  bore  fruit.  He  seemed  to  feel  so  sorry  for  me, 
he  appeared  so  considerate  to  me  and  whereas,  had  he  ever 


268  A   NEW  ENGLAND   WOMAN. 

openly  abused  you,  I  would  have  resented  his  doing  so,  he 
never  in  any  way,  until  I  left  you,  did  other  than  hint  at  sins 
other  men  were  guilty  of. 

I  never  loved  you.  If  I  had,  I  never  would  have  been  so 
easily  influenced.  But  I  married  you,  and  God  knows,  while 
your  wife,  I  tried  to  do  my  duty.  That  man  came  between  us. 
His  hypnotic  influence,  or  whatever  it  was,  engendered  the  spirit 
of  rebellion  within  me.  With  all  your  love,  (and  who  could 
know  how  deep  it  was  better  than  I  ?  )  you  were  ever  master. 

He  played  upon  my  susceptibilities,  he  made  me  revolt. 
Once  only,  and  only  once,  you  showed  me,  under  certain  cir 
cumstances,  I  could  be  mistress  That  once  was  enough!  From 
that  moment  I  became  a  tyrant,  even  before  you  knew  or  were 
aware  of  it. 

When  I  deserted  you,  I  had  no  thought  of  the  future.  That 
man  entered  my  life.  You  heard  of  it,  you  objected  !  That 
settled  our  lives.  I  was  too  proud  to  give  in.  Pride  and 
contrariness  ruled  me. 

Your  re-marriage  hurt  me.  It  angered  me,  but  as  time 
passed  on,  I  saw  myself  as  you  saw  me,  and  I  was  horrified. 
Husband,  I  am  dying.  I  know  I  have  done  wrong.  I  did 
wrong  when  I  married  you,  I  did  wrong  when  I  left  you,  I 
did  wrong  when  I  rejected  the  overtures  you  made  to  regain 
me.  I  know  it ;  I  feei  it.  By  a  life  of  devotion,  by  a  life  of 
regret,  I  have  tried  to  atone  for  my  wrong  doing.  FORGIVE 
ME! 

Our  little  Beatrice  and  Oliver  have  ever  loved  you.  In  their 
lives,  and  in  their  love  for  you,  I  hope  to  be  redeemed.  In 
the  bringing  up,  and  the  motherly  love  your  Eugenie  showed 
Enid,  I  suffered  the  worst  punishment  this  world  ever 
vouchsafes  to  a  woman  such  as  I. 

Forgive  me,  be  good  to  our  children,  and  may  Heaven  be 

with  you  forever. 

Your 

EDITH, 


A    NEW    ENGLAND    WOMAN.  269 

The  heights,  by  great  men  reached  and  kept, 
Were  not  attained  by  sudden  flight, 
But  they,  while  their  companions  slept, 
Were  toiling  upward  in  the  night. 

****** 

I  am  a  changed  man  to-day. 

In  the  love  of  my  children,  and  the  respect  of  my 
fellow  men,  I  am  rich  above  many. 

My  profession  is  my  .wife,  my  work,  my  mistress. 

As  I  sit  here,  thinking  of  the  many  changes  I  have 
seen  in  life,  of  the  many  loves  that  have  come  acrosa 
my  path,  I  bid  the  slave  who  responds  to  the  call  of 
my  Aladin's  lamp,  bring  me  the  face  of  her  who  was 
my  last  love,  of  her  who  took  pity  on  me  when  I  was 
deserted  and  in  misery  and  opposed  by  the  whole 
world,  gave  her  love,  her  heart,  and  finally  her  very 
life  to  me. 

And  as  in  the  spirit,  my  Eugenie  places  her 
hand  on  my  pillow  and  rests  her  head  on  my 
shoulder,  I  am  conscious  of  her  very  presence  with 
me,  until  at  last  we  meet  in  the  world  above,  where 
there  is  no  parting,  and  where  she  and  I  will  be  one 
forever  and  forever. 


THE     END. 


ROBERT  FENNIMORE'S 


vv 


I3XT 

MY    SECOND    WIFE. 
MY    WIFE'S    FATHER. 
MY    RELATIONS    AND    FRIENDS. 
THE    SIN    OF    LOVING. 
THOU  SHALT  HAVE  NO  OTHER  GODS. 
THOU       SHALT       NOT       COVET       THY 
NEIGHBOR'S     WIFE. 


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FIFTY    CK1NTS 

BY — 

THE  SOCRATES  PUBLISHING  COMPANY, 

34:  EAST  14th  STREET,  NEW  YORK, 


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